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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25402135">The Drowned And The Risen</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/icantwritegood/pseuds/icantwritegood'>icantwritegood</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Horizons [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>BFUCU - Fandom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Blood and Injury, Civil War, Forbidden Love, Friends to Enemies who are also Lovers, Functional relationship? HERE? ya jokin, Griffins, I've used a lot of her songs for inspo, On Hiatus, Ricky and Tinsley would both kill each other and die for each other in this fic, Swordfighting, Swords &amp; Sorcery, Violence, i would like to thank florence welsh for my life, or something along those lines</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 02:49:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>21,092</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25402135</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/icantwritegood/pseuds/icantwritegood</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><em>"You are the kindest thing that ever happened to me,</em><br/><em>Even if that is not how our tale is told."</em><br/>Nikita Gill</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Francesca Norris/Original Female Character(s), Ricky Goldsworth/C. C. Tinsley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Horizons [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1727734</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>46</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. What Gods Do</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p><em>"I am terrified by this dark thing that sleeps in me."</em> - Sylvia Plath</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Theonas opened the door to the cell. He had given this Head Professor a relatively comfortable one, if only because he was frightened to anger her. Not that he was afraid of her. He was simply wary of what she was capable of.</p><p>She sat waiting for him at the single dark wood table against the far wall. In front of her was an unlit candle and a pocket-sized mirror. Somehow, despite never being told what day or what time it was, she was always waiting for him. It was unsettling, especially for a superstitious man like Theonas. He eyed her where she sat before stepping fully into the room and closing the door behind him.</p><p>“Good morning, Percula,” he said, in a voice more confident than he felt.</p><p>She smiled at him. Her hair, once a blonde bright enough to rival silver, was now pure white, and it hung in tendrils from the brass clasp that held it back. She was old now, very old, and her skin was cracked and wizened. It clung to the back of her hands like wet parchment. She had never been particularly beautiful, but her presence had always grabbed the room like a clap of thunder. Below the hoods of her eyes there was still a lively spark, twinkling as she watched him. He had hoped that perhaps said spark was just an early sign of senility, but it seemed he was mistaken. She remained, unfortunately, fully in control of herself.</p><p>“Good morning, Theonas,” she said.</p><p>He sat down across from her. “I hope they’ve been treating you well.”</p><p>“You say that every week, yet no matter what complaint I make, nothing changes.”</p><p>Theonas just smiled a thin smile. “Did you sleep well?”</p><p>“I don’t sleep like I used to,” she replied, watching his face with her little eyes. “I used to have dreams. Such dreams. I traveled further than anyone else has ever traveled before. But that drink your Librarians force into me... it renders me dead until morning.”</p><p>“I’m sorry about that.”</p><p>“If you were sorry about it, you’d stop giving it to me.”</p><p>“I am sorry about it,” said Theonas, folding his spidery hands on the table. “But it’s a necessity, I’m afraid. Your dreams were endangering you, you know that.”</p><p>“They were only endangering me because you didn’t like what they showed,” said Percula. “So really it was you who was endangering me, don’t you think?”</p><p>Theonas tried to keep his face from falling flat. “You ask too many questions.”</p><p>“No. I have too many answers. That’s why <em>you </em>come to me.” She laughed then, a crackling sound, like dry paper being crushed within a clenched fist. “Do you want me to tell you your future, High Councillor?” She suddenly slapped the table with her with her gnarled hands. “You will die! I’ve seen it! I’ve seen it on the walls and on the roof and on the ground beneath our feet! The sea will flow in these streets and your blood will join it!”</p><p>Theonas just shook his head calmly. He was too well organized to believe such a thing would happen without him being aware far before it occurred.</p><p>“And when you die, there will be celebrations the likes you have never seen,” said Percula with a triumphant smile. She tapped the table again with a hard finger. <em>“That </em>is your future.”</p><p>Theonas raised an eyebrow. “My future is what I decide it will be. But thank you for your... input.”</p><p>“I see more than you will ever see,” she said. “My School saw how this land was made, and how it will end.”</p><p>“Your School saw a possible ending,” corrected Theonas.</p><p>“The seas will rise, High Councillor. This land is theirs, don’t you know?”</p><p>“So what does that mean? The sea is going to kill us all and in return we should worship it?”</p><p>“The sea is not a benevolent being, High Councillor. It is no more good or evil than you or I.”</p><p>“Then how is it a god. Or multiple gods, so you say.”</p><p>“Because it is powerful. Power and control is all the gods understand. Just like you.”</p><p>Theonas raised his chin. “Then why should they have any more right to rule than I do.”</p><p>“In a way, they don’t,” she said. “But they are more powerful than you. So in that way, they do.” She smiled then, a wry one. “You speak as if you believe.”</p><p>Theonas ignored her. It wasn’t the first time they had had such a conversation.</p><p>He got up and crossed to the door, opening it to poke his head into the corridor. He told one of the Librarians there to bring in the seawater. Then he turned back to Percula and said, “Are you hungry?”</p><p>“Not in comparison to my colleagues in this prison,” she replied.</p><p>“That’s not what I asked.”</p><p>Percula didn’t respond but to say, “Is Karim still alive?”</p><p>Theonas hadn’t spoken to that particular Head Professor in years. He had been in charge of the School of Law and Justice, and could hardly talk about anything other than was the law just and was justice lawful, waving his finger in the air and striding back and forth in that pompous way riders do. Even when he had become a Head Professor and been given his scholarly cloak, he preferred wearing that coat that all riders wore. His was black as midnight. His griffin had had the crown of a scops owl, with those orange eyes that appeared permanently suspicious, and dainty feathered stuck atop its head like horns. The creature had vanished the day Karim had been arrested. Theonas had no idea where it had gone. Apparently, once a rider was killed, the griffin tended to perish in its mourning. But Theonas didn’t trust that the creature had died. He had always hated how it looked at him, how it perched atop the roof of Law and Justice and watched him with those unavoidable eyes, like it could see right into him, poring over his thoughts like a scholar in a library. And whatever thoughts it saw, it didn’t seem to approve.</p><p>“Karim is still alive, yes,” he eventually responded.</p><p>“Is he well?”</p><p>“He’s alive.” Theonas stepped aside as the bowl of water was brought in and placed on the table in front of Percula. He didn’t speak again until the Librarian had left. “Do you require anything else?”</p><p>Percula nodded. “Your blood.”</p><p>Theonas sat back down across from Percula and pulled up his sleeve. He couldn’t draw the blood from anywhere too obvious, or there would be questions from other Councillors. He poked the inside of his forearm with the tip of the letter opener he carried on his belt. Then he let two drops of blood fall into the water. No more than that. He retracted his arm swiftly to prevent any more from falling in. He was aware that blood and water was a powerful combination, and that too much blood could give Percula too much control over him and his mind.</p><p>Percula lit the candle on the table. Then she picked up the mirror, using it to reflect the candlelight into the water. Then she watched. She didn’t have to focus too much; after all these years, she found she could simply slip into the images shown to her. Today, to her surprise, they were new. Her brows raised then fell again, her lips pursing.</p><p>“What?” Theonas watched her face, leaning forwards. “What is it?”</p><p>She hummed to herself, pensive. “I see love.”</p><p>Theonas rolled his eyes.</p><p>“A new love,” she said. “A powerful one. Very powerful.”</p><p>“What type. Between who.”</p><p>“I don’t see that,” she said, still watching the water. “I see scales. On one side is a feather. On the other is water. A drop of water. A teardrop, maybe. Saltwater, nonetheless. The scales aren’t balanced. They go up and down and up and down. But when they balance, the brief moments they do, it breaks the world, remakes it better. And I see more love than that. I see familial love being found again, I see it being stronger than ever before. I see new friendships, so many strings connecting so many places.” Her little eyes flashed up to look at him. “And all these strings create a net that catches this city right where it stands. And you in the middle. Like a teeny tiny fly.” She wiggled her fingers and made a buzzing sound between her teeth before laughing loudly.</p><p>Theonas pursed his lips, eyes narrowed. He was never sure if she was just making up stories to play with him. It wouldn’t be the first time. She was his most valuable tool, while also his most treacherous one. A knife that kept flipping over whenever he tried to use it.</p><p>“Tell me what you can see about the supposed warrior.”</p><p>She raised a warning finger. “Are you sure? He’s more powerful than I am. If I look at him through water he may just look right back.”</p><p>Theonas hesitated. Then he said, “What about the Silverbird?”</p><p>“There’s no guarantee I’ll be able to, if he’s in the air. The sea can’t see into the sky. That is a pact made long ago.”</p><p>He rolled his eyes. The nonsense this woman spoke sometimes. “Just try.”</p><p>So she tilted the mirror again, and tried. She shook her head. No luck.</p><p>Theonas sighed wearily. “What use are you to me then, Percula? If you can’t see what I need to see?”</p><p>She shrugged. “Perhaps none at all. It was your choice to have me do these things, anyway.”</p><p>He scowled at her. Unfortunately, she was correct. “I will be back in the next few days.”</p><p>“Take all the time you need. I won’t be going far.”</p><p>He ignored her dry tone, gathering his cloaks about him and going to the door. He told the Librarians to fetch the seawater and get rid of it safely, and to take the candle and mirror too. Then he pulled the hood of his cloak up over his head in order to cross the city undetected. He wasn’t one for attention from the masses. He didn’t trust them, any of them. This was unfortunate, as he was frequently a very busy man, with very big plans, and to carry them out without attracting too much attention was a feat in itself.</p><p>As of now, he had to visit the School of Brick and Mortar, a small sub-School of Iron and Steel. His plans for the new library were coming along nicely. It was going to be a beautiful building, lighter and airier than the old ones. After this, it was to the Head Professor of Iron and Steel he had to visit. He hated speaking to Delia. He hated how she enjoyed standing over him with her arms subtly flexed to make him feel small and insignificant. But he needed her to come up with a mixture that would take down the old libraries as swiftly as possible, the same weapon he had commissioned her to create for Ventis on the Roost. Not that she had known that was what she was making it for. </p><p>The weapon had turned the tide of the war, it had seemed. Ventis was now happily seated in Greatsky, proclaiming himself king for all to hear. Of course, Theonas had agreed to let Ventis be king. He didn't like Ventis, and Ventis didn't like him. The Blackbird was a cold, dead-eyed individual, with a particular penchant for cruelty. He had done terrible things to win the war, and he was doing terrible things now to keep his hold over the island strong. But it was important that a figure of sovereignty was left on the Roost, otherwise the riders would never be happy. So let them have their false king, and Theonas would plan for any potential consequences in advance.</p><p>He continued thinking about how to destroy the libraries as he took the quieter backstreets towards Iron and Steel. He supposed he would need the explosives to be less destructive than those made for the Roost. He wanted no casualties, if it could be avoided. </p><p>The School loomed long before he had reached it. An ugly, dark thing, with moving parts visible even from outside the walls; large steel wheels creaking round and round, a frighteningly large bellows that kept the main fire in the forge piping hot, and multiple pumps and swinging machinery hanging from the sides of the dark stone buildings. The longer one stared, the more moving parts became visible, until the building looked like a living, breathing creature, coughing dark smoke into the sky. At night the building seemed to glow eerily with the fires lit inside. It was ugly, but it was a necessary ugly. To sleek the building down would mean to lose much of its use. It was the same with the cultures of the different cities. It was a bad decision to try and rule them directly. What worked better was to gain control over an already-existing leader, such as Ventis on the Roost, the lords and ladies of Snow's End, Nerisei in the Temples.</p><p>If the Temples still stood at all. Theonas had written to a nearby Councillor to go and investigate the rumours of its fall. He didn't like rumours. He didn't like their uncertainty. Ignoring them and paying attention to them held equal risk.</p><p>Theonas reached into his pocket and touched the ancient gold coin he kept there, the one he rubbed at when he was deep in thought. He had rubbed it so much over the years it was beginning to flatten on both sides. He took it from his pocket now, looking at it. On one side a crown, on the other side a feather. From the days the monarchs ruled the land. He rubbed at the coin as he walked on, gradually erasing the symbols from the gold, just as gradually and subtly as he was erasing the monarchs from the land. He just had to stick to his planned path. Then everything would work out smoothly.</p>
<hr/><p>Sky lay under the trees not too far away, a hulking grey mass under the shadows of evergreen. Gale was resting at the top of one of the trees, his position only discernible due to the fact his silhouette blacked out the glittering stars behind him. He was an invaluable watcher; even when he slept, his hearing would alert him to an intruder. Holly lay close by, using a saddlebag as a makeshift pillow, while Tinsley took his turn on watch. It was a peaceful and silent night. Empty, too. Empty of laughter and jesting words. Empty of the tension Tinsley hadn’t realized he had been carrying in his shoulders for the past few weeks. He felt strangely loose.</p><p>He was sat in front of the fire, his knees hugged to his chest, one hand using a stick to agitate the embers in front of him. A few weeks previous and he would’ve given his left limb to be in this situation, to be back with a rider, to be going home. Now, however, it felt like something was missing. And something <em> was </em>missing.</p><p>Ricky had occupied his mind like a foreign army. All Tinsley could do was think of him, think of ways to chase him out, but everything failed. Even now, as he looked into the base of the fire, the charred wood burned as bright and black as Ricky’s eyes.</p><p>He looked at Holly asleep a few feet away. Her back was to him. It was strange, he thought, how if Holly had gone through with having their child, he would’ve stayed on the Roost and they would’ve been wed. Tinsley would have looked on their love as a duty, and would’ve treated it like one too. But he knew it wouldn’t have been real. His love for Ricky was solid and heavy, and exciting, and he ached for him every minute of every day, regardless of whether Ricky was present or not.</p><p>Strangely enough, he missed Ricky's company, despite the tempestuous nature of it. He missed the way Ricky couldn’t seem to help but cause mayhem everywhere he went. He had brought colour back into Tinsley’s life, and Tinsley was both grateful and resentful. <em> To still be dead, </em> he thought, <em> To still be able to carry out my duties free of emotion, like I used to be able to do. </em>But he wanted Ricky. He wanted him so much he couldn’t bear to admit it out loud, not even to himself. So he stayed still and silent and poked at the fire, watching the sparks dance into the air.</p><p>“What’s on your mind?”</p><p>Tinsley turned to see that Holly had rolled over and was watching him closely. He signed, <em> Too much to explain. </em></p><p>Holly just nodded. That was the way it was on the Roost. You either said what you wanted to say, or you didn’t. No one was going to urge you to speak. After a few minutes of hesitation, Tinsley signed, <em> I’ve done something stupid. </em></p><p>
  <em> What did you do? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I fell for someone. Not from the Roost. </em>
</p><p>Holly sat up at this. Concern was clear on her face. <em> How serious was it? Did you lie together? </em></p><p>He shook his head. <em> No. </em></p><p>She was still for a moment, processing this. Then she signed, <em> You’ll move on. You’re coming home now. </em></p><p>He didn’t respond. He hadn’t told her yet that Ricky and his people were to follow them to the Roost. He wasn’t sure how she’d react. He wasn’t sure how anyone would react. Ricky was a force of nature, and his people were the polar opposite of those on the Roost. But Ricky was also an invaluable weapon, if he put his power to good use. Tinsley couldn’t risk being forced to turn him away. The sea responded to him like a wild dog to its only owner. So he stayed silent, poking at the flames. Holly continued watching him.</p><p>“There’s something on your mind,” she said. “Something more than what you’ve told me.”</p><p>He looked at her for a moment. <em> Do you ever remember meeting a Seia? She was a bit older than me, a bit younger than you. </em></p><p>Holly pondered it. <em> Perhaps. What did she look like? </em></p><p><em> I’m not sure what she would’ve looked like on the Roost. She wore no coat when I met her. No griffin either. She said the Council took it. </em> He chewed on his lip before continuing. <em> She told me some interesting things. That’s all. </em></p><p>
  <em> What interesting things? </em>
</p><p><em> About us. About what we used to be. </em> He hesitated before signing, <em> Do you remember the stories about monarchs? </em></p><p>She nodded.</p><p>
  <em> Well, she said we used to be them. </em>
</p><p>Holly laughed. <em> Tell that to Ventis. He’ll have all the more reason to proclaim himself king. </em></p><p>Tinsley didn’t laugh. <em> Maybe he knows already. </em></p><p><em>Wait. </em>Holly’s brows drew together. <em> You’re serious. </em></p><p>
  <em> Yes. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> But that’s impossible. The monarchs are dead. </em>
</p><p><em> Apparently not. </em> He turned to face her directly. <em> Seia told me that the Council has a plan for the Roost. A cultural genocide. It’s why we’re encouraged not to lie together, not to have more than one child. We’re told to stay on our little island and not let anyone else in. And this war, it was Council-caused. They’re making us kill each other off, so they don’t get their hands dirty. </em></p><p>Holly eyed him warily. <em> Are you feeling okay? </em></p><p>His face flattened. <em> Stop looking at me like I’m mad.  </em></p><p>
  <em> You’re talking like a madman. </em>
</p><p>He gritted his teeth, turning his head aside to look back into the fire. Then he turned to face it again. <em> Never mind. </em></p><p>Holly arched an eyebrow. “Who was this Seia? Where did you meet her?"</p><p>
  <em>She was the Overseer in the Temples. </em>
</p><p>“I see.” A pause. “What were you doing in the Temples?”</p><p>Tinsley’s face reddened, and he looked at her. <em> Nothing. </em></p><p>
  <em> And who was that man? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> What man. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The one with the black hair. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I don’t know. </em>
</p><p>She laughed. <em> You’re a terrible liar. </em> A pause. <em> Did you lie with him? </em></p><p>Tinsley turned towards her again, signing earnestly, <em> No, no I didn’t. I promise. </em></p><p>
  <em> If you did, I won’t tell anyone. </em>
</p><p><em> I didn’t. </em>It was the truth. He hadn't broken down and given in, and he'd be damned if he let anyone think otherwise. <em>I swear it.</em></p><p>
  <em> Okay. That’s good. </em>
</p><p>Tinsley rubbed a hand over his mouth. Then he turned back to face the fire, hugging his knees to his chest. Holly watched him. It was alarming at times, how suddenly his vulnerability pushed through. And he was strangely vulnerable, for a leader. She supposed that was what people liked about him. He was a stark difference to the Council, who moved as one incalculable mass, with hands that reached to all corners of the land. Tinsley was human, a symbol they could see and touch and listen to. But they never saw him like this. Not like she did.</p><p>“Are you nervous to go back?”</p><p>He nodded.</p><p>“Look to me,” she said. “You know I can’t hear myself. I might start speaking too loudly, and who knows what’s in the woods.”</p><p>Tinsley did so with an apologetic ducking of his head. He was aware of the issue. The Roost had people with full hearing, people who were hard of hearing, and people who were entirely deaf. It was seen as incredibly rude not to face a person in conversation, as one was never sure what scale of deafness they were at.</p><p><em> Why are you nervous? </em>she signed, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.</p><p><em> What if the people don’t want me back? They betrayed me, in the end. </em>He always found the sign for betrayal very fitting; fists clenching in front of his chest just to open again, a shattering of the heart, letting the shards fall through his fingers and to the ground below.</p><p>Holly inclined her head, her short dark hair fanning out to the side, shining in the firelight. <em> Things have changed. </em></p><p><em> How? </em> Tinsley wasn’t so easily convinced. <em> They sentenced me to death. </em></p><p><em> Only the ones who were there. What other choice did they have? They were in a city with no hope of survival if they opposed the Council. </em> Her face grew stern. <em> Remember the true enemy. It was Ventis who sentenced your death. </em></p><p><em> And it was the Council who sentenced my punishment, </em> signed Tinsley, bitter. <em> Believe me, I remember who my enemies are. </em></p><p>He remembered all too well. He remembered standing before the impromptu court in Greatsky, shackled to the hastily-assembled podium. Behind him sat those who had opposed him, and those who until recently had supported him. In front of him sat three men; to the left had been Primus, the designated Overseer for the Roost, with his cracked old face and pompous nose in the air. His arrival had pushed the conflict on its trajectory at the time. An Overseer for the Roost? It had been unheard of.</p><p>To the right had sat Ventis himself, eyeing Tinsley with undeniable satisfaction in his venomous green eyes. And in the middle had sat a Councillor who hadn’t announced his name, with greying hair at his temples and a general unsettling quietness about him. He had held a gold coin in his right hand, rubbing at it, turning it over between his fingers. Some higher-up, Tinsley had supposed. In the moment he hadn’t truly cared. He hadn’t cared about anything.</p><p><em> You will be welcomed, Tinsley. </em> Holly’s eyes were serious. <em> We need a sign of hope. And what better sign than you. </em></p><p>Tinsley looked at her for a long moment, his eyes big. <em> You do think there’s a chance of winning this thing, don’t you? You wouldn’t take me back to fight a losing war? </em></p><p>It was then Holly realized that he was frightened. Of course he would be frightened, she thought. The last time he had been home he had been torn asunder in the dark. Was this cruel? Should she be bringing him back at all? Perhaps he had been glad to leave the island behind. But then again, he had eagerly offered to go with her when she asked.</p><p>She looked at him. <em> I believe there’s a chance. I believe you’re that chance. </em></p><p>This seemed to pain him; he closed his eyes, his brows drawing together. <em> Don’t tell me that. </em></p><p>She was hesitant, waiting for him to open his eyes again before signing, <em> Why? </em></p><p><em> I can’t take the pressure again. Everyone’s hopes. They’ll crush me. </em> He swallowed. <em> I’m not who I was. You need to know that now. </em></p><p>Holly watched him. This was a change indeed. Tinsley never used to voice insecurities like this. She didn’t quite know how to respond. Hesitantly, she reached over and touched his wrist. It was a bold move, intimate, even with their gloves on. He looked at her.</p><p><em> I believe in you, </em> she signed, firm. <em>I always have.</em></p><p>To her surprise, this didn’t quite seem to cut it. Tinsley just pressed his lips in a line, and faced the fire again, signaling the end of the conversation. Holly hovered for a moment. Then she tapped his shoulder and signed, <em> My turn on watch. </em></p><p>He nodded. He got to his feet and stretched, pressing his hands into his lower back. He got stiff quite easily now, Holly noticed. She did too, but she was quite a bit older than he was. Next year she would be fifty-three. Gods, fifty-three years on this land. In a way, she was lucky she even managed to make it to this age, considering the things she had scraped her way through.</p><p>“What age are you now?” she asked Tinsley.</p><p>Tinsley sighed, long and weary.<em> Thirty-three. I wish I felt it. </em></p><p>Twenty years between them, thought Holly. He should be fitter than this, but she was sure Aran would whip him back into shape in no time. </p><p>She wondered, not for the first time, if it had been strange for them to have shared a bed. It was true, there was a substantial gap between their ages, but it didn’t feel like so, and more than that it had been Tinsley who had initiated the night. They had spent so much time around each other they felt like nothing else but equals, after all. She touched her belly, where Tinsley’s child had been. She wondered what it would have looked like. But it didn’t matter. It would have suffered regardless. She couldn’t have possibly kept it safe, and she hadn't quite felt like sacrificing herself to do so either.</p><p>She watched him go to Sky, and as he approached the griffin spread out its wing to tuck him under before going back to its dozing state. There was no place more comforting than with the warm feathers and beating heart of a griffin beside you, thought Holly. No place safer.</p><p>Holly built the fire up again, little by little. She thought of the black-haired man again. Gods, he had been so beautiful it wasn’t fair, the type of man who made women envious of his looks. She still supposed he was some sort of whore, but Tinsley refused to talk about him, insisting he didn’t know who he was. But she knew he was lying. The only thing that concerned her was <em>why </em>he was lying. How much had this man meant to him, that Tinsley was wanting to lie about whether or not he knew him? He must have meant quite a lot. Holly wondered whether or not she was jealous. She was sure another person would be, if they’d had the past experience with Tinsley that she had had, but she couldn’t quite muster any real emotion over it. She had never been one for romance, anyway.</p><p>She picked up the stick Tinsley had been using to poke the fire, and began to poke it herself.</p><p>Meanwhile, Tinsley dreamed. He dreamed horrible dreams. No matter how many times these dreams visited him - and they visited him often - their horror never lessened. He often wondered were they quite dreams. They seemed so vividly real. He wondered if it was the trauma of the events revisiting him, making him feel it all again. No sense was spared in these dreams. He could taste the wood between his teeth, placed there to stop himself from biting through his tongue. He could smell his own fear, the sweat and blood. He could feel the metal shackles around his wrists, keeping his arms out either side to prevent him from defending himself, from cowering away, from moving at all.</p><p>"Those shackles were specially crafted for you, Silverbird," said Ventis, watching from the door to the cell. He always stood tall, head high and hands clasped behind his back. "They suit you very well."</p><p>Tinsley's throat worked as he swallowed. He held Ventis' dead eyes, refusing to show fear. <em>I'll kill you,</em> he thought, hoping that Ventis could read the threat in his gaze.<em> Between now and my death, I'll take you down with me. </em>He would have no hesitation. He had nothing left to lose. Even a split second alone with Ventis would be enough time to inflict enough harm to ensure death.</p><p>But when the Librarian entered the cell with the coiled lash in his hand, the fear cracked open in Tinsley's chest. He tried to back away, his knees shuffling across the stone floor. The chains rattled when he pulled at them. The sight of terror on Tinsley's face seemed to have been enough for Ventis. He didn't smile in satisfaction. He didn't smile at all, ever. He just gave Tinsley a lingering look, slid the cell door closed, and left him to his fate.</p><p>But the dream ended differently this time. The cell door had been closed, leaving him alone in the damp and the dark. His body burned. He could feel the blood trickling warmly down his back, soaking into the waist of his trousers. He was afraid to move even an inch. Each breath was agonizing in how they moved his shoulders. He let his head hang forwards. There was no difference between the tears and the sweat on his face, both were hot and shameful. He knew he looked miserable, pathetic. The only thing he could be glad for was the fact they refused Ventis' suggestion of having the punishment carried out in public, where everyone could see. Ventis had a vicious mind like that.</p><p>As he knelt there, arms limp in the shackles, willing himself to wake up, there was movement in the shadows. Tinsley didn't have the energy to lift his head. It was some guard left behind, something like that. But at the sound of a coat's hem brushing the stone ground and the sudden scent of sea air, Tinsley looked up. Ricky gently held his face with one hand, and for a moment Tinsley resisted, before letting his head rest in the soft touch.</p><p>"You've seen what I can do," said Ricky quietly. "I'll help you protect your home. I'll save your people."</p><p>Tinsley shook his head, as much as he could do so with the torn skin high on his back. "I can do it. I can do it myself."</p><p>Ricky looked around the room, gestured at the shackles, at the blood shining wetly on Tinsley's body. "You couldn't do it before. Why do you think you can do it now?"</p><p>"Because- Because-" Tinsley's voice was hoarse, his eyes fluttering. "I don't know."</p><p>Ricky placed a finger under Tinsley's chin, tilting his head back to look him in the eye. "I can do anything. I can do <em>everything.</em> I'm more powerful than you are. How many times have I killed you in past lives? Hundreds of times? Thousands? No one knows for sure. It all started long before history did." He crouched down in front of him, looking him in the eye. "You need me, Silverbird. You need me more than I'll ever need you, and you've always known it."</p><p>Tinsley shook his head, even though it aggravated every inch of him. "I don't need you. All you do is haunt me, hold me back. I wish I'd never met you."</p><p>Ricky searched his eyes, deeply. "I can free you from these chains. Would you like that?" He pushed Tinsley's sweat-stiff hair back off his face. "But you would owe yourself to me. Every aspect of you would be mine."</p><p>"You can't just do it out of the kindness of your own heart, no?"</p><p>"That's not what gods do."</p><p>"Gods barter and haggle, do they? I'll give you this if you give me that?"</p><p>Ricky's eyes flashed. "Gods take what they want when they want it." He leaned in closer, his breath hot on Tinsley's mouth. "And I want you. So maybe I should just take you."</p><p>Tinsley held his dangerous gaze, swallowing hard. "But you don't just want me. You love me."</p><p>"More than you could ever imagine." Ricky stroked his hair, softly. Tinsley was shaking slightly, trembling in his shackles, the pain wracking his mind and body. "I'd do anything for you, Tinsley. You know that. I fear sometimes that you'll use it against me."</p><p>Tinsley didn't respond. What other weapon did he wield in this strange battle with Ricky, apart from Ricky's willingness to love him?</p><p>Ricky was quiet, watching his face, reading his thoughts like an open book. "You <em>will</em> use it against me, won't you. Some day, you will." He laughed, soft and bitter. "What use is it for me to be more powerful than you if you have a hold on me like this? I'm meant to be the closest thing to a god among men, and you just make a slave of me."</p><p>Tinsley looked at him. "You're not a god. You're just their vessel. You've said so yourself."</p><p>"I know. I know they control me. But sometimes I wonder who controls me more- them, or you?"</p><p>Tinsley didn't answer the question. "Is this a dream, or is it... something else?"</p><p>"You mean am I divinating?" Ricky looked down at his own hands, turning them over and back again. "I don't know. I might just be dreaming of you. Or you're dreaming of me. Or we're dreaming of each other." He looked Tinsley in the eye again. "Which would be more frightening to you? The fact that I can walk into your head whenever I feel like it, or the fact that you might be dreaming of me?"</p><p>Tinsley swallowed. "I don't know."</p><p>Ricky smiled. "Yes you do."</p><p>Ricky straightened up then, moving around Tinsley, who remained where he was, head hanging forwards. He heard Ricky's footsteps slowing to a halt behind him. Ricky stared in mute shock at the bloody tatters of Tinsley's back, the deep gashes that gleamed wetly in the dark. He recalled the pain that he had felt when he'd tried to visit Tinsley's memories; he had screamed until his throat was hoarse.</p><p>He could feel the anger rising in his throat with the same stinging burn as bile. He knew that he was witnessing a dream, a memory, but the anger the sight stirred was fresh.</p><p>"I'm going to kill the people who did this to you."</p><p>Tinsley's voice was quiet. "No you're not. I'm going to kill them."</p><p>Ricky moved back around, crouching down in front of him and taking hold of his face. He looked hard into his eyes. "Then I'm going to help you. I'm going to do everything in my power to deliver them into your hands. I promise."</p><p>He didn't wait for Tinsley to reply. He just pressed a kiss to his forehead, tasting the salty sweat on his skin. Then he woke up.</p><p>He lay in the quiet for a moment. The air in the tent was warm, and the blankets were soft around him. He could hear Esmond snoring softly beside him, and Lacilia was asleep nearby too. Maie sat at the entrance to the tent, repairing clothes. She liked stitching and darning. She liked pulling tears and rips back together again. She found it satisfying. She looked up when Ricky moved. He sat upright, holding his head in his hands for a moment. Then he got out of the blankets and started getting dressed.</p><p>"The sun hasn't risen yet," said Maie, quietly, so as not to awaken the sleepers.</p><p>"I'm going for a walk," he said, as if she hadn't spoken.</p><p>He pushed open the flap of the tent and stepped outside. The sky to the left was black, but to the right he could see it was beginning to go a light grey, the sun's rays reaching further than the sun itself did.</p><p>They were traveling west, hoping to cross the river at Bridgeford and carry on to the Strait of Griffins after that. It was already beginning to grow warmer. Ricky remembered Tinsley telling him that the Roost was a hot island, and the summers were long and glorious. He remembered everything Tinsley used to say and do. He remembered all the contradictions he harboured. He remembered the deep warmth of his voice and the cold blue of his eyes. He remembered the alternating cruelty and kindness of his touch. He remembered the distance Tinsley used to put between them, but he also remembered when all Tinsley wanted was to be understood. The confusion Tinsley had caused still lingered in Ricky's mind, along with the hissing, whispering voices of Ricky's past lives, those who had occupied his soul before he had.</p><p>He walked and walked. He stepped quietly through the tents. The encampment was large, rolling on for as far as the eye could see. All of these people, following him wherever he went. He was sure he was meant to find it intimidating, but he stepped into the role with no difficulty at all, wore it quite comfortably indeed. He was born for it, he supposed. Created for it.</p><p>The breeze stirred his hair around his face. It had gotten long and untidy over the past few weeks. He could feel some curls brushing the back of his neck behind his coat collar. He distractedly reached behind and pulled at them. Tinsley hated messiness. He would probably take one look at Ricky's hair and take a knife to it himself. Ricky made the decision to let his hair grow, then and there. He had never let anyone else's opinions dictate anything about him. If he wanted to look wild and unkempt, he would, for no other reason than he wanted to.</p><p>He reached a flat expanse of grass beside the tents. A small herd of sheep occupied it, and the horses that had been taken from the Temples. Ricky sat on a boulder and absent-mindedly made small, delicate plaits out of the stray locks around his face. His dream had disturbed him. That is, if it had been a dream at all. But it had seemed so real; the smell of blood, the sight of it, the dark dampness of the cell itself. And Tinsley, chained and trapped, alone. How many days and nights had he spent down there with nothing but his cracking mind to speak to? Ricky thought it explained a little of Tinsley's personality; when Tinsley was angry, it wasn't a normal anger. It was a wild, feral thing that slept in him like a great beast, fearsome to witness. Yes, thought Ricky, Tinsley could be terrifying when he let himself be. </p><p>Ricky wished they could travel across the land faster, but Esmond had reminded him that many of his followers were weak and nervous, having never left the Temples before this. Ricky had to be their strength. But he also had to be careful not to push them. <em>What sort of leader had to bend to their followers' demands?</em> thought Ricky. He blew a sharp moody breath at one of his finished plaits, and it fluttered for a moment before dropping back down again.</p><p>He stared at the sun rising far in the distance. After a while he heard the camp awakening behind him, pots and pans being set above newly-struck fires. Ricky waited until he smelt the first wafts of cooking food in the air. Then he got to his feet and headed back into the camp for breakfast. It would be another long day of travel again, and there was nothing worse than being on horseback with an empty stomach.</p>
<hr/><p>The glass trembled as Banjo gave it a light tap with a finger. The little needle shivered inside, but remained in place. There was no hiding it now. A thunderstorm was imminent, despite the fact that it was not yet the rainy season in the south. He had been leaving out such information from his reports to the Council for the past few months, but if a Councillor decided to take a visit now, even they would be able to see that the instruments were askew. From the streets below, it may have been possible to arouse suspicion with only a glance at the spinning anemometers and wind vanes atop the towers of Storms and Skies. A constant chorus of squeaks and creaks filled the air, drifting along with the wind through the city. Banjo looked out the window of his office. The sea was growing choppier every day, impatiently baring its white frothy teeth. He crossed his office to look out the far window. Did the clouds look darker across the fields outside the walls, heavy with rain? He wasn’t sure.</p><p>He sat down for a moment. Then he heaved himself up from his chair and crossed the room to the door. He poked his head into the corridor, noting that it was empty of students, professors, and Librarians alike. He shut the door over, silently sliding the bolt shut. If there was one thing a Librarian was drawn to, it was the sound of a bolt scratching metal as it sealed a door. He waited for a few minutes, listening for footsteps, for the sound of approaching voices. The silence remained. He went back to his desk.</p><p>He drew out a slip of parchment. He unscrewed the lid on his pot of black ink, and trimmed his quill with a small blade, humming to himself as he did so. He brought the tip of the quill close to his eyes, almost going cross-eyed in the process, the blade scratch-scratch-scratching. When he was satisfied, he placed the blade aside, dipped the freshly-sharpened quill in ink, and began to write out his letter.</p><p>
  <em> Dear Fear,  </em>
</p><p>He stopped then, just to chuckle. He liked how the words rhymed, as if the following message was going to be nothing but a short, lively poem.</p><p>
  <em> Dear Fear, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I write to you on behalf of a close friend of mine inquiring as to whether a visit to your old city would be a possibility in the near future. The close friend of mine - the Head Professor of Flora and Fauna - is very much interested in observing the poison forests of Gravehearth, and if appropriate, he would like to return with some samples of the plants. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I would appreciate if you were prompt with your response. It would be best to travel sooner rather than later, I believe. I’m not sure if it’s the same where you are, but every day I look from my window it seems as though darkness is falling on the horizon earlier and earlier. Gabriel is eager to travel, and I alongside him - lots of things shaking and moving in this School! We can’t seem to get anything to sit still! All doing their jobs too well, I suppose. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I hope to see you again soon. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Prof. Bernard McClintock, Storms and Skies. </em>
</p><p>Banjo placed his quill aside and closed his pot of ink. He lightly sprinkled pounce over the wet ink, shaking the excess off. He debated sealing it, wondering if he should waste precious wax on the effort, when it was undeniable that his letter was going to be torn open and read at the walls. A letter from a Head Professor to one of the People of the End would be passed around the Librarians at the gates, no doubt at all. It might even make its way into the hands of the nearest Councillor. But Banjo was certain he had disguised his message effectively. There was obviously very little chance of an inter-city visit being permitted, so Fear would know that there was some other message within the letter to be picked up on. Fear was an intelligent man, almost as intelligent as his wife had been. It was no wonder Francesca was such a bright student.</p><p>He melted some deep blue wax, the colour that was attributed to Storms and Skies. Waiting for the wax to dry, he folded the letter neatly. His hands were pudgy, but they were delicate and gentle in their touch, and he hardly left a wrinkle on the parchment. He poured a small pool of the wax onto the folded letter, and stamped it with the stamp of his School - a single stormcloud with a fine bolt of lightning descending straight downwards.</p><p>There was a knock at the door. Banjo pushed himself to his feet, hurrying over, sliding the bolt back. Delia barged in without waiting for an invitation. The Lones followed, their white cloaks bright and clean. To his surprise, Darla was with them. She shut the door behind them, still respectful of their status. She avoided Banjo’s worried eyes.</p><p>“They are burning the first library this week,” said Delia, storming in a wide circle around the office before coming to an abrupt halt back where she had started. “This week! Are we really going to stand aside and do nothing? Is this how far we have fallen?”</p><p>“There is nothing we can do,” said Banjo, hesitant. He was still trying to catch Darla’s eye, to understand exactly why she was here along with the Head Professors. “We have no true power. You know this, Delia.”</p><p>“There <em> is </em>something we could do,” said Darcy, arms folded. “It’s something you’ve been keeping a nice little secret.”</p><p>Banjo hesitated. “...Secret?”</p><p>“I caught this student running a bag of books from the back of the binder’s,” said Florence, pointing a finger at Darla. “She’s lucky it was me who caught her. A Librarian would’ve meant death on the spot, if she was lucky. A long miserable life in Greatlight, if she was unlucky.”</p><p>Banjo looked at her. Darla looked back. Then she nodded, her eyes downcast.</p><p>“They know.”</p><p>“Explain to us why you never told us you were smuggling books from the city,” ordered Delia, driving a fist down into her palm. “Explain!”</p><p>“It’s not book smuggling,” said Banjo, giving in. “It’s- There’s more to it. The books are taken from the libraries, and they’re transcribed, and the transcriptions are smuggled out to the surrounding towns. Friends, families, any contacts at all. The original books are returned to the libraries they came from. It’s a long process. A long and risky one. The less people involved, the better it is for everyone.”</p><p>Grace Lone spoke up in her quiet voice. “You don’t get to decide what risks we wish to take. You know we would've wanted to help.”</p><p>“Don’t you see how we can help you?” Darcy spread his hands, gesturing at the four of them. “We have students too! We have offices for transcription! We could double, triple the output!”</p><p>“I will admit, I didn’t expect this from you of all people,” said Delia, giving him a hearty slap on the shoulder. “You’re a dark horse, Banjo. I am impressed.”</p><p>Banjo reddened, rubbing at his arm. “I started it accidentally. Darla does most of the organizing.” He suddenly looked at Darla again. “Don’t you have astronomy class now?”</p><p>“Well, yes, but I-”</p><p>“Go! And tell no one of this.” He tutted at her as she hurried out of the room, closing the door behind her. “She’s a little imp, she is.”</p><p>Delia stood with her hands on her hips, elbows out either side. “I want to help with the smuggling. I can help. I have to get iron ore delivered weekly for the forge. The carts go back out empty. How many books could you fit in an empty cart? Fifty? Sixty?”</p><p>“And I get deliveries too,” said Grace, double-checking the door was shut. “From Gravehearth, occasionally. There’s some plants that only grow there. The Council has no jurisdiction over Gravehearth, the books would be safe there.”</p><p>“That’s true, but unfortunately it can’t be relied upon.” Banjo sat back down at his desk with a heavy sigh. “Francesca Norris is the daughter of one of the People of the End. She transcribed a book for Darla, and Darla informed me that when Francesca gave it to Fear he was hesitant to take the risk. He said, from the first, no more.”</p><p>Florence raised an eyebrow. “But if you plan to travel to Gravehearth with Gabriel, you could convince him otherwise, correct?”</p><p>“No, no, me and Gabriel won't be allowed to go. And Fear is quite set in his ways, Florence. Understandably so. The Council and Gravehearth have long had a tumultuous relationship. All Theonas would need is one small sign that Gravehearth is breaking their law, and he’d send a delegation within a day.”</p><p>Darcy nodded his agreement. “We can’t ask such a thing of the People. The Council are going to be aggressive over the next while, what with this warrior - Goldsworth, the Council are calling him, a whore’s title - having stormed the Temples. There’s even been reports the Silverbird was at his side the whole time.”</p><p>“I thought the Silverbird was old history,” said Grace, brows raised. “I thought he was dead. Now I’m hearing of him every day.”</p><p>“And the miners in the far north,” said Delia, seeming somewhat proud of the people she had descended from. “Absalom Borisovich is leading them south for what they have done to the old city of Snow’s End. There is blood on the horizon, my friends.”</p><p>"You won't be saying that so proudly when you realize it's going to be our blood too," said Darcy, seating himself on the side of Banjo's desk. "From the miners' point of view, it's us who's on the horizon, isn't it?"</p><p>"Do you think they'll come straight here?" asked Banjo, lowering himself into his seat again with a sigh. "They'd be foolish to, I reckon."</p><p>“They might,” said Florence. “Arcania isn’t a military stronghold. But the Council will definitely have some bumps planned for the miners’ journey. It won’t be a smooth sail by any means.”</p><p>"Well, I'm sure we all wish them safe travel," muttered Darcy. "And good speed, too."</p><p>"If they do reach the city," began Grace quietly, "what's our plan? Do we side with them? Do we speak out?"</p><p>"We side with them!" said Delia firmly.  "Of course we side with them."</p><p>"Let's just see how things unfold between now and then, alright?" Banjo sighed wearily, pushing his fingers under his glasses to rub at his tired eyes. "No point in getting too ahead of ourselves. It's all just a bit too unpredictable for my liking, anyway."</p>
<hr/><p>Darla hurried into the Pit, trying to open the door only as much as needed for her to slip in, to stop more light from filtering into the darkness of the room. It was a vast, vast space, circular in shape, and always in complete darkness. The seats were tiered around three quarters of the room. She felt her way to the seats her and Fran usually sat in - it was no surprise to her that Fran had been moved up a year in astronomy due to her quick mind - but found Fran’s seat empty. Darla sat quietly, puzzled, wondering if she was in the wrong class, had got her times mixed up, perhaps. But no, the right professor was speaking at the podium, continuing their lesson from the previous day. </p><p>Darla let her head tilt back to look at the ceiling, the crowning jewel of the Pit. On it was painted the night sky. Depending on each semester and what was to be studied, the ceiling was cleaned and painted again. She wasn’t sure what exactly made the paintings glow - some sort of phosphor and tritium setup, although she had never been too good at chemistry. </p><p>Right now, the ceiling showed the various moons and stars. There was the north moon and the south moon, equal in size on the painted ceiling, although in reality the north moon appeared much smaller from the south and the south moon appeared much smaller from the north. One could walk from north to south and not even notice that the moons had changed overhead.</p><p>There was a smaller moon only visible through a telescope on a clear night on the Roost. Darla hoped that next semester they would learn of the falling stars that too fell near the Roost, once a year every year. They used to have a festival for it, she knew. If the riders weren’t so closed off as a people, she would have given everything she owned to go and witness it herself. There were stories of grand banquets and graceful dances, and the rich spiced foods and sweet honeyed desserts that made the Roost seem such a luxury. A luxury none could take hold of, unless one wore a gilded coat across their shoulders. Darla sighed and blew air out through her mouth. This got a hissed <em> shh! </em>from the person sitting behind her. She stuck out her tongue at them, knowing that in the dark they couldn’t see. Then she slumped back against her seat, her chin in her hand. The class was boring without Fran. The only way Darla could look at the glowing paintings of the night sky for a long period of time was through the reflection they cast in Fran’s dark eyes.</p><p>Where was Fran anyway? She had been elusive for the past few weeks, always running to the library, her satchel over her shoulder and a coffee in hand. She had grown a bit thin, too. Darla hoped she was eating properly. She knew what it was like to fixate on a topic, to be unable to break away to eat, to drink, to even go to the bathroom. But Darla knew that she had something different in her own mind. She had gone through multiple spoken examinations in Health and Wellbeing, and it turned out that she had an attention-deficit disorder. She didn’t question it. She had known the whole time, in a way. She could never focus on one thing. In lectures her mind wandered like a ship over a roiling sea, and sometimes this ship went into the sea itself, and she got lost inside her own mind for hours at a time. Even now, she couldn't sit still. All she could think about was where Fran could be. Her leg bounced rapidly, to such an extent that the person behind her hissed at her to stay still. Darla told them to piss off before getting to her feet and leaving. If the miners truly were traveling from the north, there were bigger things on the horizon than the exams, she realized. Perhaps the exams wouldn't be happening at all this year. How could a thought be both a source of relief and fright, simultaneously?</p><p>She decided to find Fran. Whatever Fran was up to was clearly ten times more interesting than a lecture. Otherwise Fran would've been at said lecture; she rarely missed a class. Darla knew to check three places, the first being the library, the second being the coffeehouse where they'd first started meeting up, and the third being Fran's apartment.</p><p>Darla was lucky with the first choice. She found Fran in the historical section of the main library in the city. The historical section used to take up a whole quarter of a floor, now it was hardly two shelves' worth of books. The Council had purged ones they deemed unsuitable. For a moment Darla just hovered at the end of the shelves, watching Fran searching the titles in front of her, head tilted horizontally, fingertip trailing the spines of the books. Darla shuffled closer before leaning in and whispering, "Hey."</p><p>Fran jumped, and the books already in her arms jumped with her before falling back into a pile in her arms. "Gods, Dee! You scared the life out of me."</p><p>"Why aren't you in class, huh?"</p><p>Fran was quiet for a moment, eyes wide. "I forgot."</p><p>"You're a terrible liar." Darla read the titles of the books in Fran's arms. "Historical figures? Old wars? You know all of that had been censored, right? You won't find an ounce of the truth in those."</p><p>"Yes. Yes, I know." Fran neatened the pile in her arms, taking off down the row. "I'm just... comparing some things. For a project."</p><p>"Oh. What project?"</p><p>"Just a little one. Kind of just for me."</p><p>They reached one of the wrought iron staircases that joined one floor to the other, a twisting contraption. It was beautifully made, Darla had to admit. They all were. She followed Fran up the steps.</p><p>"What's it about?"</p><p>Fran hurried a few more steps up the twisted stairs, leaving Darla a few steps behind, until she was directly above her. "Oh, nothing. Nothing interesting."</p><p>Darla also advanced below, keeping her head tilted back to watch Fran above. “But I want to know.”</p><p>Fran leaned over the railing, her hand resting on the black iron, the other still holding the books to her chest. “Why do you want to know?”</p><p>“Because… Because I like doing things… with you.” Darla ducked her head to hide her blush, bouncing her foot against the step ahead of her. “You make things interesting. I like how you think. And I like how you describe things and how you say things. And I just… I want to be involved. With the things you do.”</p><p>Fran was quiet for a moment. “I, um, I like doing things with you too.”</p><p>“You do?”</p><p>Fran nodded, still leaning over the railing. “I think you’re fun. And you make things fun that maybe shouldn’t be fun.”</p><p>Darla smiled, tracing the swirling floral pattern of the iron railing beside her. “I didn’t know you thought that.”</p><p>“I guess I never said it.” Fran laughed, a tad shy. “I thought I was annoying you. Tagging along everywhere.”</p><p>“No! Never.”</p><p>Fran was quiet for a moment. Then she said, “I think you should come all the way upstairs.”</p><p>Darla just nodded and did so. Her and Fran scurried all the way up the twisted steps, black silhouettes against black iron railings, the light of the window behind them. At the top was a private reading space, which usually housed a Librarian, but for now it was empty. There was a deep purple velvet reading chair, with multiple tasseled cushions, and a heavy curtain to drag across the space for when it was occupied. There was a small window, the black lead cutting diamonds in the glass, and it overlooked the long cobbled street below. Fran stopped there, waiting for Darla to catch up. Once she did, Fran sat down. She knew there was no point in offering the seat to Darla, who couldn’t sit still for more than half a minute.</p><p>“I think I found something,” said Fran in a hushed voice. “Remember when we went to… that place with the paintings?”</p><p>Darla nodded. She meant Dreams and Omens.</p><p>“Well, I went back when it was light.”</p><p>Darla’s eyes widened in alarm. “Don’t do that! What if you got caught?”</p><p>“I almost did.”</p><p>“What?! Tell me. Tell me everything.”</p><p>“I don’t know…” Fran hesitated, her hands fidgeting in her lap. “I think I found out something that I shouldn’t have found out. And I’ve been researching it. That’s why I’ve been missing classes. But let’s just say that at this point, I’m finding it harder to find information that <em> disproves </em>what I think I found out.” </p><p>Darla was pacing back and forth, her footsteps muffled by the floral patterned rug below. “Well? What do you think you found out?”</p><p>“You know the stories, right? About the warrior and the lover?”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>“So you remember the monarchs in it?”</p><p>Darla nodded. “Yes, they were my favourites in it. I wish the king had been in it more, and it hadn’t just been about romance. In a way, the romance was actually kind of twisted, don’t you think? I mean, first the warrior kills the lover’s father, and then he tries to marry her? Who does that? Like, how would she be okay with marrying the man who killed her dad?”</p><p>“Darla, you’re getting a little bit distracted.”</p><p>“Oh. My bad. Go on.”</p><p>“I don’t think the monarchs are dead,” said Fran, whispering now. “The paintings… They look like riders. They wear the same clothes. They look the same, physically. Their eyes and their heights. And in one of the buildings, there was a giant statue of a griffin. And there was another statue, of a rider, with a crown on their head.”</p><p>Darla paused. “And that would mean?”</p><p>“Well, it would mean the Council is lying to us, firstly. And secondly, it means they’re trying to cover something up.”</p><p>“Shocker.”</p><p>“But then two Councillors came in when I was there. I hid and they didn’t find me, but they talked about… stuff.”</p><p>Darla raised an eyebrow. “Stuff?”</p><p>Fran beckoned her closer, and Darla came over, crouching down beside the chair so Fran could whisper in her ear. Fran told her about what she had heard; that the Council knew about the book smuggling, that they were hoping the burning of the libraries would cause them to make a mistake. The discussion of unrest within Arcania itself. The fact that the Rising was still ongoing on the Roost, that the Silverbird was still alive. Rebels in the north. A warrior in the east. And the brief mentioning of Gravehearth which still had Fran concerned enough to jolt her from her sleep at night.</p><p>“And then… I found this.”</p><p>Fran lifted up the ring she had found in the ceramic bowl, the one identical to her own. Darla leaned in close to study it.</p><p>“Isn’t that your ring?”</p><p>“No. No, it’s just a replica. Or perhaps a matching set.”</p><p>“Okay, that’s weird.”</p><p>“I know. It’s forged in Gravehearth.” Fran slipped the ring back into one of the many pockets on the inside of her cloak. “I need to talk to my dad. But I don’t know how to.”</p><p>Darla suddenly realized just how alone Fran really was in this city; a father she couldn’t contact without risking suspicion, no mother, no siblings. Just her. Darla sat down on the arm of the chair, watching her. She placed a hand on her shoulder.</p><p>“You can talk to me about stuff, you know. I know I’m not the best at listening, but...”</p><p>Fran smiled. “I know.”</p><p>“And I might not understand a lot, but I’ll try.” Darla swung her leg back and forth, scuffing the heel of her boot off the rug below. “I’m from Bridgeford, you see. Way busier than Gravehearth, I think. And I grew up with four siblings. Three brothers and one sister.”</p><p>“Oh.” Fran tried to imagine what it would be like to have four other people like you, living with you, occupying your space. “Where were you in the pecking order?”</p><p>“I’m the eldest.”</p><p>“Will your siblings be coming here too?”</p><p>Darla looked at her for a moment, then shook her head. “No. My parents can’t afford to send any of them.”</p><p>Fran suddenly felt a little embarrassed at her question. “Oh. I’m… sorry.”</p><p>“It’s fine. I was lucky to be sent, really.” Darla looked about her, at all the shelves and all the books, in varying shades of green and red and brown, with the titles gilded on the spines. “Now I think I might be throwing it all away by getting caught up in the wrong things.”</p><p>Fran didn’t quite know how to respond to this. “Well, if it’s of any comfort, I don’t think what you’re doing is a wrong thing. I think it’s a good thing, Dee. A brave thing.”</p><p>Darla looked at her for a moment. "My name is Darla, by the way. I never told you."</p><p>Fran blinked, suddenly realizing that it was true. She had just slipped into calling her Dee, not thinking twice about it. "Darla. Yeah, that suits you."</p><p>"Well I hope so."</p><p>They laughed then, quietly, before looking at each other again. Darla smiled.</p><p>"How many coffees have you had today?"</p><p>Fran shrugged. "A few?"</p><p>"Room for another?"</p><p>Fran smiled, hoping she didn't appear as shy as she suddenly felt. "Yeah. Yeah, I have room for another."</p>
<hr/><p>Bodies had stopped arriving from the Temples. It wasn’t a gradual change. It was a loud, sudden change. They used to be daily, Fear recalled. The people from the Temples died from diseases gone untreated, or from customers who demanded too much. Fear was glad the bodies had stopped arriving, not only because it meant the suffering had ended, but because it meant the warrior had succeeded in freeing himself from his chains. All was going as it was meant to go. Fear found himself whistling a jovial tune as he made his way to Coldfire Hall. It was early in the morning, and high time the People of the End discussed their future. What a perilous future it was.</p><p>The others were already there when he arrived. In the dark, the candlelight gleamed off their golden pieces - off Rage’s spine, Denial’s jaw, off Sorrow’s eerie mask and Grief’s skeletal hands that held her thick plait together. The air smelt cold and damp, as everywhere in Gravehearth did.</p><p>“Could we not have had this in a coffeehouse?” asked Rage, waiting until Fear had seated himself and arranged his cloaks before speaking. “I’m frozen through.”</p><p>“The Council has eyes and ears everywhere, you know that,” said Denial. "Even here."</p><p>“One of use could have at least brought coffees.”</p><p>“I didn’t hear you offering.”</p><p>“Rage is right,” said Sorrow, not unkindly. “It’s dark and dreary down here. All the more reason for us to hurry along with all this.”</p><p>“Oh, Fear, this arrived at the gates for you this morning.” Grief reached into the deep pocket of her cloak, retrieving a letter. The seal was a dark blue that had been broken. “It was broken when it got here. From Arcania, so I’d say the Council had a good sniff at it.”</p><p>Fear took the letter with a curious thank you, unfolding the thin parchment and reading it by the candlelight. He adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses on his nose as his eyes skimmed line after scrawled line. He murmured phrases of interest aloud, as he was prone to do. “...would be best to travel sooner rather than later...every day I look from my window it seems as though darkness is falling on the horizon earlier and earlier...lots of things shaking and moving in this School...can’t seem to get anything to sit still, all doing their jobs too well… Bernard McClintock.” He sifted through the choice of words in his mind, quickly matching them together. He passed the letter to Sorrow beside him. “Read that and let me know what you think.”</p><p>Sorrow dutifully nodded and took the letter. Their eyes and face were invisible behind the gold mask, but the interest radiated off them regardless. “Ah. I see.”</p><p>“What?” Rage’s gaze flickered between them. “What is it?”</p><p>“The weather is changing, and it’s changing enough that the School of Storms and Skies is beginning to pick up on it,” said Fear, allowing the letter to be passed around. “Banjo says there’s darkness on the horizon, which I’m assuming means storm clouds, and he says there’s lots of things ‘shaking and moving’ in the School, that they’re ‘doing their jobs too well’. The instruments are reading the changing weather. The changing weather brought on by the warrior.”</p><p>“I see,” said Denial quietly, finishing his examination of the letter and passing it back to Fear. “You have a keen mind. I wouldn’t have picked up on half of that.”</p><p>“Surely the warrior would not pass so close to Arcania,” said Rage, her brows raised. “That’s reckless behaviour.”</p><p>“And where would he be going that would bring him to pass the city? Is he traveling west?” Grief looked back to Fear. “What lies west that he would want?”</p><p>“The Silverbird is from the Roost,” said Sorrow. “Perhaps they are traveling there?”</p><p>Fear tapped his fingers against his mouth, pensive. “But what would make the Silverbird want to go home in the first place? He can’t have pleasant memories of it. In all aspects but name, he’s an exile. An outcast.”</p><p>“And the last I had heard the Roost was at peace,” said Rage. “He won’t be welcomed back, if he is only there to reignite the violence.”</p><p>“The Roost is at peace,” said Sorrow in their soft voice. “Or that is what we have been told by the Council.”</p><p>“You think they are lying?”</p><p>“You think they’re not?”</p><p>The discussion continued as so, for the guts of an hour. Eventually it was decided; the possibilities and trajectory of events was too important to let hang in the air. Fear and Rage would ride to meet the warrior as he traveled west. Only then would they know for certain what was transpiring. Sorrow, Denial, and Grief would remain to protect Gravehearth from any potential backlash by the Council, which at this point seemed more and more imminent.</p><p>"We'll be crossing a line here," said Grief, tapping her fingers off the table. "An undeniable one. You'll have to travel in disguise."</p><p>"No. Traveling in disguise will just bring more reason to punish us." Rage spread her hands, leaning forwards in earnest. "All we have to do is travel swiftly, and in a small group. Stay away from busy areas. The warrior is not too far, perhaps just a day or so's ride."</p><p>"There is no way to say that for certain," said Denial. "He could be a day's ride away, he could be a week's."</p><p>"And you'll be racing the Council to meet him first," said Sorrow. "The delegation returning from the north must be close to home by now. You might end up walking into a battlefield."</p><p>They went quiet at this. </p>
<hr/><p>Councillor Fay heard the sound of drums, laughter, and song first. She heard it from quite a distance away, and the sound of it was one of utmost disrespect in such perilous times. The whores might as well have come forth and spat at her feet. And she knew it was the whores from the Temples. The whores, the guards, the priests and priestesses. All of them had abandoned the city. Fay had traveled there first, and found the streets empty, and the temples that had given the city its name vanished. They had been wiped clean from the face of the earth, it had seemed. All that lay there instead were three large, glass-still lakes. The sight of them had made Fay highly uncomfortable, as if there was something lurking in the depths, waiting for her to stray close enough. She had moved on swiftly.</p><p>It hadn’t taken long to locate the old inhabitants. Each village she passed through pointed her in the direction they had gone. Many villages seemed emptier than she had remembered. But she had heard that this warrior was a highly persuasive man. It was very much a nuisance, she thought. The more people who had decided to follow him, the more people there were to be punished. Perhaps the High Councillor would settle on a mass execution of the villagers. It would be the simplest way. Not for the whores, though. She had been given orders by Theonas to return the whores to the Temples. The city was a valuable source of income for the Council, and they were already feeling the strain of its absence. Not to mention the strain of having no fuel being delivered from the north.</p><p>She crested the next hill, and there the encampment lay. There were fires, large ones, celebratory, as far as the eye could see, and she could make out various silhouettes dancing around the flames, and hear the music and laughter louder than before. She could hear meat spitting over hot coals and wine being poured freely into cups. She hadn’t been mistaken; it was some sort of festival, although for what, she didn’t know. There weren’t any festivals or celebrations lined up that she knew of. She swept her ruby cloak across her chest and back over her shoulder before guiding her horse down the hill towards the camp. She heard the four Librarians follow her, weapons rattling.</p><p>She dismounted near the first fire. No one seemed to notice her. As she made her way into the people, she held her head higher in order to garner the attention she believed was due. It didn’t come. The people were indulging in too many delicacies to notice. Barrels of ale lay cracked open on their sides, empty. Carcasses of cooked chicken lay stripped bare to their delicate bones. She could see babies and toddlers, bouncing on their parent’s knees, being fed small slips of meat. From tents, she could hear laughter and lovemaking. The entire thing was absurd. She watched as a man carved still-smoking meat from a spit, handing it to the people around him, slice by mouth-watering slice. It smelt rich and herby, and blood still dripped from the carcass, oily in the firelight. The Councillor picked her way through the chairs and logs and makeshift tables, stopping near the man who was cooking.</p><p>“You,” she said, flippant, “tell me where this so-called ‘warrior’ is.”</p><p>The man gave her a shifty once-over, scratching at his beard, as if deciding whether or not to obey. Her impatience flared at his audacity. Then the man pointed a wizened hand towards the next fire.</p><p>“Over there somewhere.”</p><p>She didn’t thank him. She took off towards the fire he had gestured towards. His eyes followed her and the four Librarians, hostile. She didn’t see.</p><p>It was easy to spot him, sitting on the ground, lazing back against a felled log with his elbow propped on it. He wasn’t dressed any differently to those around him. He wore mainly dark clothing, with a heavy deep-blue greatcoat over it, a bit shabby at the edges. A silver ring with a dark stone glittered on his thumb, and a delicate golden hoop was through one ear, just visible behind his shock of dark curls. These curls fell about his face, although it seemed he had made a half-hearted attempt to gather it all in a hair tie at the nape of his neck. The white-haired man next to him was watching him adoringly, a hand playing with the curls at the side of his face. Yes, although he wore no crown or sign of leadership, it was evident that he was the one Fay sought - he was entirely at ease, baring his throat when he laughed, a throat that was marked by dark lovebites, and he let his cup drift aside in his hand when he required a refill. Those around him jumped to serve.</p><p>He spared her a glance where she stood on the outskirts of the fire, and she was surprised to see he wore the facial make-up that the whores in the Temples wore - black paint smudged around his black eyes, giving him an altogether ominous edge. But he only looked at her and looked away, back to the group he was entertaining. Fay gritted her teeth at his insolence. He seemed to be aware that he had irritated her; he spared her another sidelong look, and just the barest hint of a smile, a glimmer of teeth in the firelight. Fay glared at him. She gestured at the Librarians to follow her, and stepped into the circle.</p><p>“Which one of you is Goldsworth,” she said, her nose in the air.</p><p>The people gathered threw her a look, as though she was nothing more than an inconvenience, a fly in the soup that was their celebration. The Council held no respect here. This she had noticed from the beginning. The curly-haired man gave her a wryly amused look, letting his head tilt back, as if he knew full well that she knew it was him. She could see markings on the smooth planes of his chest, curling and spiraling. He held his cup aside, and a red-haired woman took it from him. Then he pushed himself to his feet, dusting his hands off, still watching her with vague amusement.</p><p>“Have you come to join in the fun, Councillor?”</p><p>She inclined her head. “What is the reasoning for this ‘fun’, might I ask.”</p><p>The man shrugged, running his hands back through his hair, pulling even more tendrils loose from the hair tie. “There doesn’t have to be a reason.”</p><p>“There does. You have taken the whores from where they belong. They are to be returned.”</p><p>He raised a dark eyebrow. “Taken and returned? Are we talking about cattle at a mart?” He laughed, and he let his hand drift aside, and the woman who had taken his cup gave it back to him promptly. “They chose to follow me. They chose freedom. Are you here to take it away from them?”</p><p>“They are the property of the Council,” said Fay icily. “You have stolen from us. Thievery is punishable by death. If you refuse to return our property, there is a delegation returning from the north that will carry out the appropriate punishment for you and your people.”</p><p>He watched her from behind his cup, taking a mouthful. Then he said, in a softly dangerous voice, “Are you threatening me, Councillor?”</p><p>She held his suddenly intense gaze. “I am stating the law of this land, Goldsworth. It is up to you whether you wish to obey it or not.”</p><p>“The law of this land is below me. I was born from the sea.”</p><p>She almost laughed, but something stopped her. He was no larger than she was. He wore no weaponry but a small silver dagger on his belt, and she was certain that the rest of the people had hardly a worthy weapon between them. Meanwhile, her Librarians stood to attention behind her, with spears and swords and knives that could go through an eye and out the back of a skull with ease. But still, this man made her wary. He looked at her like he knew this.</p><p>“But you, on the other hand,” he said. “You are of this land. The law applies to you. So tell me, are you here to steal the freedom of these people? There are only two possible answers to this one, Councillor. One, as you have told me, is punishable by death. So think carefully before you speak.”</p><p>The threat seemed to have given her a shock. It had been a long while since someone had had the gall to threaten a Councillor to their face. “How dare you speak to me like this, you filthy little creature.”</p><p>The sound of rattling weapons let her know that the Librarians had picked up on her tone. To her surprise, the people around the fire remained lax. She could see more in the shadows now, watching from the outskirts, dozens of gleaming eyes. The silence was profound. Only crackling flames and a soft, warm breeze cast sound into the air. Fay turned her head. All around the fire, people were watching. Waiting. Waiting for something to happen. Slowly, she looked back at Goldsworth from under her brows. He smiled.</p><p>“Come along, Councillor. Yes, or no?”</p><p>Fay wet her lips, her heart suddenly beating too hard and too fast. This was not how she had assumed this would go. It was true what the villagers had said; this man had a way of twisting words that made him sound persuasive and knowledgeable. She would just have to shatter this act. Over her shoulder, and without taking her eyes from Goldsworth’s, she said to the Librarians, “Take him.”</p><p>She stepped out of the way to let the Librarians move forwards, holding her ruby cloak off the dirt of the ground. They moved forwards a few steps, before coming to a halt. Fay opened her mouth to demand they tell her why they had stopped, and she coughed once, a hand to her lips. She coughed again, a wetter sound than before. Her shoulders hunched, and she coughed more, hearing the sound echoed by the Librarians. She took her hands from her mouth; they were covered in glistening water. She could feel it rising up her throat, making her chest heave as if to vomit. Steel glinted as the Librarians dropped their weapons, clutching at their own chests. Fay turned to look at Goldsworth with wide, frightened eyes. He looked back, cold and unblinking. The tips of his dark hair seemed to be waving slowly, like seaweed underwater, and the hem of his coat drifted softly off the ground. The Councillor coughed once more, and then retched. Water spilled from her mouth, splattering to the ground. She tried to speak. More water poured from behind her teeth, choking her words. The silence was punctuated only by these sounds, people gasping for air that had no space in their lungs, retching water, liquid splattering against the earth. Goldsworth just watched with curious eyes, as if even he was unsure of what was to happen.</p><p>A strange effect came over the Councillor’s body. At first, her cloak and long sleeves lifted upwards, flowing in wispy reds like blood in water. Her golden hair followed, curling and twisting. When her feet lifted off the ground, the people gasped. The Librarians were soon to follow, twisting and writhing. The circle around them expanded as they all took a step back in shock. Ricky’s eyes followed the Councillor as she slowly floated into the air, her cloak billowing around her, water spilling from her mouth and nose, landing on the ground in loud, violent splashes. Her reed-like fingers grasped at nothing as she was turned onto her front, legs kicking slowly, struggling against an invisible current. Her stunned eyes were red, the veins in her forehead and neck bulged. Her hand stretched towards Ricky, fingers splayed, desperate. Then, with an almost imperceptible change, she went still. Her eyes glazed over, her open mouth slackened. Water still dripped off her tongue, from her nostrils. Some leaked out of her eyes in a mockery of tears. She remained suspended in the air, her hair and clothing still drifting about her, her limbs floating. The Librarians remained alongside her, limp. Goldsworth looked up at them, how the firelight cast twisted shadows on their bodies, akin to an oil painting. It was a beautiful sight, he thought.</p><p>Abruptly, they dropped from the air. The mud splattered outwards as they landed heavily in it. The rain had started to fall, a light sprinkling; the Councillor’s hair covered her face in dark liquid gold. Ricky smiled to himself. Then he turned to Dalyn beside him, taking him by the back of his hair and pulling him forwards into an open-mouthed kiss. He tossed his cup of wine aside, the liquid splattering the dirt like blood. Around him, he heard the celebrations resume with more gusto than ever before. The people drank and ate til dawn. Ricky took Dalyn and Haron into his tent and spent the remaining hours entangled with them, working off the sudden adrenaline in his chest.</p><p>When the encampment moved on the next day, heading west, everything was cleared away but for the bodies of the Councillor and her Librarians. It rained heavily, drenching them in mud.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i think rickys gonna become a pretty unlikable protagonist during this story but dont worry it'll be fun</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Blood-Trail</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <em>“You cannot disown what is yours. Flung out, there is always the return, the reckoning, the revenge, perhaps the reconciliation. There is always the return. And the wound will take you there. It is a blood-trail.”</em>
</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Storm’s Eye had received a sign. Lucy had been awoken early one morning, before the gulls had even begun crying outside, due to the fact that the high priestess had had a vision. She had seen Ricky, she said, commanding a great wave over the land. A red wave, she said. A red, fiery wave that smoked and boiled, and over it soared a shining silver bird. Lucy had been half-dressed by the end of the message, with Mikel still blinking blearily in the bed. Lucy had ordered priests and priestesses to sail to the other islands and spread the word, and they had been dispatched by sunrise.</p><p>It had all moved so swiftly. Just like her, the chiefs and chieftesses of the other islands were tired of waiting. Now she stood on the deck of a ship, one of the same ships stolen from the port of Snow’s End long ago, that had saved their lives from the Council’s blades. She had been young then, young and afraid. Now she was older. Older and afraid. Afraid of what was to come, of why the wave the high priestess had seen had been red and fiery. What did it mean? She knew divination was complicated; every changing colour, every shifting shape meant something different. It took someone truly skilled to decipher each nuanced sign.</p><p>She tied her hair back off her face to stop the wind from whipping it into her mouth. She had forgotten how peaceful the open ocean was. An endless blackness, far into the distance, where it abruptly ended against the grey sky. If the sky wasn’t there, the sea would go on forever, she thought. It would envelop them all, overflowing into the air, swallowing the world. Just as it had thousands of years before.</p><p>To the right and to the left were other ships, bows cutting froth through the sea, revived from their long wait on the shores of other islands. Their billowing sails still bore the crests of the lords and ladies in Snow’s End, although faded now. They were to take the Blank Ink River across the mainland and out the far side. It was lonelier over that side of the mainland, with endless woods and no ports due to the abundance of trees with trunks impossible to cut down due to their width. They would be less likely to be spotted.</p><p>“We don’t even know where we’re going,” said Mikel moodily, joining her at the side of the ship’s deck.</p><p>“Have faith, Mikel. The gods will show us where to go.”</p><p>“Do you think it’s wise to pass by Snow’s End?” he asked. “They might decide they want their ships back. Even after all this time.”</p><p>“If they truly wanted their ships back, they would’ve followed us a long time ago.”</p><p>“I suppose.”</p><p>Lucy looked at him, arching an eyebrow. “You’re reluctant about this journey.”</p><p>“Of course I am.”</p><p>“Your faith is questionable.”</p><p>“I can’t help but feel a bit disbelieving at the fact that Ricky truly is the warrior.”</p><p>“And why is that?”</p><p>A dry laugh. “You don’t want to get me started.”</p><p>“Because you don’t like him,” said Lucy wryly.</p><p>“Because he has always had a bad attitude and a questionable moral backbone,” corrected Mikel.</p><p>Lucy rested a hand on the ship’s wooden rail, tapping it lightly. “I suppose he can be a bad influence on people.”</p><p>“Like poor Anton.”</p><p>“Ricky did love Anton. In his own way.”</p><p>“He used the lad for a bed partner and nothing more,” said Mikel. “And Anton was - and still is - head over heels for him. Half the island is. He has no idea how many hearts he’s broken over the years. Or maybe he does, and he just enjoys it.”</p><p>Lucy couldn’t exactly argue with this. It was true. “Well there’s nothing we can do about it.”</p><p>“But hope that he’ll one day meet his match.”</p><p>“Perhaps.”</p><p>It wasn’t even a day before the ancient city of Snow’s End appeared on the horizon. Even from a distance, Lucy could tell something had changed. But as the ship drew closer, bobbing gently over the icy-encrusted waves, she began to see why. Half the city was rubble. Smoke still rose feebly from some collapsed buildings. By the time the ships had reached the port, there were people watching. A few adults. Mainly children. Lucy had forgotten how big the people grew here. They gathered on the walls of the city, on the port itself, and watched in eerie silence as the ships passed by. The faces all looked harrowed, tired. The holy folk watched back. The only sound was the creaking of masts, the sloshing of water, the clunking of ice against the ships’ hulls. Lucy heard a chief call from the ship behind her.</p><p>“What happened?”</p><p>An old, tired man responded in a single word. “Delegation.”</p><p>A silence. “We’re sorry for your losses.”</p><p>“Where are you going?” called a child.</p><p>“South.”</p><p>“The Roost?”</p><p>A headshake. “No. Why?”</p><p>“That’s where everyone else went.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“To finish the war.”</p><p>The chief had to call louder now as the ship glided past. “What war?” </p><p>“The Silverbird’s Rising!”</p><p>Silverbird? Lucy recalled the high priestess’ words, the silver bird that soared over Ricky’s wave. She turned to one of the people beside her.</p><p>“Fetch me the high priestess. And a map. We have a stop to make.”</p><hr/><p>The Black Ink ran from east to west across the northern half of the mainland. It was the longest and widest of all the rivers that trickled their way past towns and cities and farms. The eastern half of the river flowed past the Great Mines and on past Snow’s End, where it led into the bay and then into the open ocean. The western half of the river flowed through the Darkwoods and into the sea from there. There was also a third unexplored tributary ran northwards into the impassable trees.</p><p>It was the western half of the river that the mining ships were currently sailing along, lending the chug-chug-chugging of their fiery engines to the raucous bird calls from all around. Manda stood on deck, staring up at the impenetrable canopy above. Only a murky green glow made its way through the layers of leaves. When it was night, there was no light but for the quiet glow of the ship’s furnaces themselves, orange spectres that stretched far into the silent black distance.</p><p>Occasionally, a mountain lion or a bear would appear on the river bank to watch the ships slide slowly past. They were most likely drawn to the scent of the mammoths below deck. Or, thought Manda, perhaps they were drawn to the scent of blood in general.</p><p>“You remember the tales of the Darkwoods from when we were children, don’t you?”</p><p>Manda turned her head to look at the Mayor, where he had come up from the mammoths below. He brought with him their frowsty, comforting scent. </p><p>“And that’s what they are,” she replied, looking back out at the shifting shadows under the trees. “Tales for children.”</p><p>“They worked though,” said the Mayor. The edge of the Darkwoods was relatively close to the Mines, just a walkable distance for any curious child. “What was it they used to say? Any child unlucky enough to wander into those trees will get stolen and have their eyes taken away, because the people of the Darkwoods want working eyes for themselves!”</p><p>Manda shook her head. “Used to keep me awake at night.”</p><p>The Mayor nodded in agreement. He rested his hands on the thick railing of the ship, watching the woods move past in front of them. It was still chilly in the trees, but they provided a sense of warmth due to the enclosed nature of the branches above.</p><p>“How long do you think we’ll be at sea?” asked Manda, watching the dark rippling water below. She wondered if there was anything lurking below, if she’d suddenly find a face staring back.</p><p>“Weeks, potentially. But we’ve brought enough with us to last til the Roost.”</p><p>“You still want to stop there.”</p><p>“Yes. Yes, I do.”</p><p>Manda shook her head. “I think it’s a mistake. If we arrive and it’s the wrong side that finds us…”</p><p>“They won’t harm us as long as we don’t say why we’re there,” said the Mayor. “They’ll just tell us to leave, as they do all foreigners.”</p><p>“Have you heard much about the Blackbird?”</p><p>He shook his head. “Not a lot.”</p><p>“Me neither.”</p><p>“Good sign or bad sign?”</p><p>“I’m going to go with bad.”</p><p>“I’m inclined to agree.”</p><p>She looked at him again. “Well, we’ll probably be meeting him before too long.”</p><p>“Blackbird, Silverbird, they don’t stray too far with their titles,” said the Mayor, trying to poke some light fun at the situation. “What would I be, do you think?”</p><p>“The Bigbird. The Bearded Bird.”</p><p>“You’d be the Gingerbird.”</p><p>They shared a chuckle before quieting suddenly. Human sounds were out of place in the Darkwoods. It almost seemed an offense to laugh, to talk, to even breathe. The creatures in the shadows watched them with hungry, suspicious eyes. Manda, the Mayor, and everyone else on deck jumped in alarm as the branches above suddenly rustled, something jumping from one tree to the other, something flapping leathery wings and squeaking at the intruders below. Manda took a moment to calm her heart before turning to the Mayor and suggesting they go below deck. The Mayor hastily agreed.</p><hr/><p>The water rushed past below, gleaming and glittering in the bright light of the sun. Tinsley knew that if he leaned out far enough he would see his own reflection in the blue depths, rippling wildly. But he wouldn’t lean out too far. He couldn’t risk falling off. Not while so close to home.</p><p>He glanced behind, squinting against the sunlight. Holly and Gale were a bit behind; Gale wasn’t a waterbird, and his wings weren’t made for sea wind. Not like Sky's were. Sky gave another swift beat of her wings, the outermost feathers skimming the waves, spitting spray into the air. Her back paws brushed the cool water. Tinsley stayed close against her back to help her stay streamlined. He hadn’t flown like this in months, years even. He was almost certain Sky knew where they were going; she was flying without slowing for even a second.</p><p>A sliver of green in the distance, covering the horizon entirely. Tinsley’s heart leapt. He stood in the stirrups to look further, the wind whipping his hair and coat fiercely about him. Without hesitating he gave Sky’s reins a pull, and his stomach dropped as she let the air catch under her wings and send them soaring directly upwards. Tinsley laughed at the thrill that spiked through his pulse like a shock of static. He held onto the reins tightly as Sky climbed higher and higher, her wings beating the air hard, her breaths loud and heavy. Then she leveled out, and there it was before him in all its summer glory.</p><p>From east to west was the steep, beachless, portless coast of the Roost. The cliffs buzzed with activity, untamed griffins hunting and fighting, feeding their young, scouting out their nesting caves, all making an entire orchestra of different calls that carried in the wind all the way across the Strait. Tinsley watched a flock of gull-crowned griffins racing over the pure blue ocean - a divine azure, not the dark deep black of the ocean in the north - and although these griffins were too small of a species to have a rider, they were plentiful around the coast. They passed by below, sparing quick looks at the newcomer before declaring them free of threat. Tinsley urged Sky onwards.</p><p>Their shadow moved from the rippling ocean to solid ground. The grass was a fresh and brilliant green, longer and softer than on the mainland. The breeze stirred miniature waves through the blades. It rolled far into the distance, where thickets of trees waited, and even from his height Tinsley could see the generous sprinklings of wildflowers below - pink, blue, purple, white, all waving gently up at him. The sun above bled warmth into his bones, and he soaked it up, turning his face to the sky. Tears stung his eyes. He would’ve blamed it on the wind, if he hadn’t been wearing his goggles.</p><p>A herd of wild horses scattered as Sky sailed overhead. Horses weren’t much required on the Roost, and there were many such herds around. They left the field they had been in empty and peaceful. Tinsley guided Sky down towards it.</p><p>Holly watched him descend in the distance. She had stayed relatively low herself, keeping an eye out for enemies. Let Tinsley have this moment, she thought. Before things got heavy again.</p><p>Gale landed silently, and Holly dismounted just as silently. She didn’t want to disturb Tinsley’s mind. He had gotten off Sky, and was now simply standing, looking at the gently rolling hills and glimmering streams ahead. He wandered forwards a few steps, dreamlike in his movements. Holly watched curiously as he got down on one knee, drawing off a glove and pressing his bare hand into the grass in front of him, all the way until he could feel the soil against his skin. For a moment he didn’t move. Then he leaned forwards, all the way forwards, until he was on both knees and his hands were in the grass, head hanging between them. His shoulders shook. Holly looked away, feeling a bit awkward. She had never seen Tinsley cry before. She didn’t feel like seeing it now. When she looked again, he was sitting back on his knees, his hands pressed to his thighs, face turned up to the sun and eyes closed. His cheeks were wet with tears. He quickly wiped them away before taking a deep breath and pushing himself back to his feet. Holly was relieved to see he was steady, hands on his hips and gaze fixed ahead. Just a moment of weakness, she hoped. It wouldn’t do if he started acting in such strange ways in front of the others.</p><p>Tinsley moved forwards. The grass underfoot was soft and full, the air was warm and sweet. Bees busied themselves among the wildflowers, oblivious to the world around them. He spied a shrew among the grass, its beady eyes sharp as it watched the intruders. All around, nature bloomed proudly.</p><p>“Strange, isn’t it,” said Holly beside him. “It’s as if there’s no war at all.”</p><p>Tinsley crouched down and plucked a strand of grass from the earth. He twirled it back and forth between his gloved fingers. No grass grew greener than the grass on the Roost. No wonder the rest of the world seemed so dull and grey to him. He signed over his shoulder, <em> Where is the fighting worst? </em></p><p>
  <em> There’s no true fighting anywhere now. We’ve been hiding for the past few weeks. Holding our own as best as we can. </em>
</p><p>Tinsley frowned. <em> Why? What went wrong? </em></p><p>
  <em> I’ve told you. The Blackbird discovered something. With help from Arcania, no doubt. It’s a weapon like a ton of firepowder. It can blow a building to bits within seconds. </em>
</p><p>Tinsley straightened back up, hands on his hips. He looked across the rolling fields, to where the glittering blue stream divided the swathes of green grass. The stream, unstoppable in forming, that had divided one side from its identical other. He turned to Holly, who was watching him closely.</p><p>
  <em> Where is Ventis seated? Greatsky? </em>
</p><p>She nodded.</p><p>Tinsley took a breath. <em> I want him to know I’m here. </em></p><p>
  <em> What? Why? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Because he’ll rush into battle if he knows I’ve returned. If I show my face in Greatsky, his legitimacy - and the Council’s - will be compromised. They’ll look like liars. </em>
</p><p>Holly stared at him in disbelief. <em> He’ll kill you. </em></p><p><em> No he won’t. Despite everything, he understands that respect is due where it’s due. </em> He inclined his head. <em> And it’s due to the Silverbird, don’t you think? </em></p><p>“Tinsley…”</p><p>He conceded at the hesitant look she gave him. <em> Fine. We can discuss it with the others. </em> He paused, hands hovering. <em> Are the others still..? </em></p><p>Holly’s reply was solemn. <em> Farrelly was killed a few weeks ago. One of Ventis’ explosions. </em></p><p>Tinsley pressed his lips in a line, looking away. Farrelly had been Rasha’s husband, the only thing that could calm her when she grew angry. He felt a terrible guilt.</p><p>The breeze picked up as Gale landed near them, his neatly curved beak poking at Holly with urgency. She looked at Tinsley and signed, <em> Someone’s coming. </em></p><p>It was a fluid process of actions that was more than familiar to the both of them, that Tinsley carried out like a reflex, even after all the time spent away. They fetched their muskets from their griffins, who promptly fled in the opposite direction to where the incoming riders were approaching from. Holly and Tinsley sprinted to the nearest covering of trees, ducking into the foliage. They braced their muskets against their shoulders, but kept the barrels down for now, out of the deceptive gleam of sunlight. Tinsley signed to Holly across the dappled trees, <em> Does Gale still know friend from foe? </em></p><p>She nodded. <em> Better than anyone. </em></p><p>Tinsley peered out from behind the tree. The smell of dirt and bark was rich in his head. Far above, he could see three winged silhouettes passing over the hillside, throwing their rippling shadows on the ground. One had the drooping neck and hunched shoulders of a vulture. Another had the crisp black and white face and sunset neck of a gannet. The last one was the smallest, with the distinctive speckled underbelly of a wood thrush. Tinsley slowly moved back in behind the tree - too fast of a movement would draw the vulture’s attention, with its sharp eyes - and he signed to Holly, <em> A scouting party. Probably looking for prisoners. </em></p><p>
  <em> Why a scouting party? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> A vulture,a diving bird, and an alarm - wood thrush. </em>
</p><p>Holly shrank back in behind the leafy wide oak she had chosen for cover. Tinsley remained in the shadows, one eye peering out to watch the riders fly over the hill and on towards the east. He signed to Holly, <em> Gone, but hold still until Gale returns. </em></p><p>So they held still. Half of war was action. The other half was painstaking waiting. The latter had the potential to save just as many lives as the former. After half an hour of plaiting grass and drawing shapes in the crumbly dirt, Tinsley heard the telltale sound of wind rustling through feathers. He crept forwards, his back and legs stiff from sitting still for so long. The scouting party had returned. Again, the vulture led the way, black feathers thick and ruffled. The three riders went back the way they had come. Only then did Gale and Sky return in silence. Holly hopped into the saddle and signed, <em> Enough sight-seeing. Let’s get you somewhere safer. </em></p><hr/><p>Her letters had been shredded. She could feel them beneath her, a feeble barrier between herself and the damp stone. Sometimes, if she stayed still for long enough, she couldn’t tell where she ended and the stone began.</p><p>“I should like to be made of stone,” she said to the empty air.</p><p>Her breath ruffled the shredded parchment below. She couldn’t find the will to even run her hands over it. Her mind had been in those letters; she’d lost it all over again. They had been the only way of keeping even a remote calendar, a marker that time was passing, that the days and the years were passing too. This struck a chord deep in her chest. There must be something, someone outside these walls that she wanted to see growing. A person, perhaps? A person growing older every day? It was no use, however. She couldn’t even remember her own age, couldn’t recall when she’d last seen her reflection. Surely she was unrecognizable by now, even to herself. Her face older, her hair greying, and her hand…</p><p>They had taken more than her letters, she remembered. She couldn’t feel the pain in the stump of her elbow. It had been a surgical procedure. The wound would heal perfectly, she had been told. She wasn’t surprised. The Council didn’t kill their enemies, if they had the option to maim and mar them instead.</p><p>It was her left hand that had been taken, her writing one. A punishment fit for the crime, the Keeper had said. She had screamed at him then, maniacal in her fear and panic. She had screamed at him that if punishments were to fit crimes, he would burn in flames for the rest of time. He had just laughed, and tore up her letters into so many useless pieces. There was a true evil in that man. His sole job was to create the punishments for the scholars, and unfortunately he was quite inventive, creative, in a haunting way.</p><p>She couldn’t recall entirely why she had been jailed. She hadn’t been the only one. All the professors and students of Dreams and Omens had been arrested one afternoon where they stood, and brought to Greatlight where they were to live until they perished. But why did no one do anything? Why did no one come for her? She was certain there was someone out there who still cared for her, who wanted her back. So why hadn’t they come yet? It had been long, so long. She was sure that one some days she remembered his face. On her good days, surely. Today was a mediocre day. Her bad days were the longest days of all. She lived in constant fear of the next bad day, certain that it was watching her from the shadows, with all its shifting shapes and horrible whisperings.</p><p>It couldn’t possibly get worse in here, she thought. Although whenever she thought that, Greatlight had a habit of proving her very wrong. </p><hr/><p>The Heights were a smattering of caves across various hills, impossible to reach on foot. As Tinsley and Holly flew closer, he began to truly understand the scope of Ventis’ new weapons. Chunks of the hills had been oblitereated, debris scattered down the steep slopes, gathered in ragged piles at the bottom. Holly led him far, far into the hills. The destruction was endless. Ventis was chipping away at their last refuge, cave by cave, hill by hill. By the look of things, he wasn’t going to stop until the land was flattened entirely. Tinsley clenched his teeth, forcing himself to look ahead, to look at Holly, to follow her where she went.</p><p>They descended near a smaller hill, with a cave opening hidden behind foliage. Holly watched Tinsley dismount, and saw the nerves that made him appear taut and stiff. He patted Sky’s flank, and she nudged him with the tip of her beak in response. He was stalling. Holly tried to help.</p><p><em> They might not even recognize you, </em> she signed, brows raised hopefully. <em> You look… different than you used to. </em></p><p>Tinsley saw her eyes flicker up and down his body. He instinctively placed a hand on his stomach, his brows drawing together. He knew he’d lost a little muscle definition while living on the mainland. The lifestyle was different there. But he hadn’t gained weight. Well, perhaps he had to stretch his belt a little bit more to make it fit his waist. But he was far from a complete disaster. </p><p>
  <em> I know I’m a little out of shape, but not that much! </em>
</p><p>
  <em> ...I mean your hair. And your face with the beard. </em>
</p><p><em> Sure you did. </em> He turned back to face the cavern, the anxiety fluttering through him again. <em> Just don’t introduce me if they don’t recognize me. I’d rather wait for a bit. </em></p><p>
  <em> That’s fine. </em>
</p><p>The recognition was immediate.</p><p>When Tinsley had made his way down the winding tunnels and into the cavern, the silence spread from him like a swell from a ship. Heads turned to stare. People sat up, stood up. Even those who were injured attempted to move, to keep him in their sights, as if he could once again vanish like he had those years beforehand. Tinsley quickly glanced about the sea of faces; most looked as though they had seen a ghost. To some, that’s exactly what it felt like. </p><p>He focused on the ground in front of him and advanced further into the crowd. He wished they would all stop staring. He wished they wouldn’t part in front of him to make a path, a long stage for him to be watched upon. His fists clenched by his sides. To think he used to revel in moments like this. He had been too confident back then, too cocky. Now all the attention made him feel small, incredibly small, and the scars on his back felt prickly and uncomfortable. He ran a hand back through his hair, pushing it off his face. The room was entirely silent, but for the sound of his boots against the stone floor.</p><p>The silence dragged on. It dragged on for so long that Tinsley debated turning around and fleeing the way he had come. He waited for someone to say something to him, to praise his return, to condemn his abandonment, anything to let him know what they were all thinking of him in that moment. But no one said a word, no one moved a muscle.</p><p>Tinsley cast a sweeping glance from below his brows at all the watching faces. He was trembling somewhat, his hands shaking. He clenched them to hide the telltale nerves. </p><p>People shuffled out of his way. He saw wounds the likes he had never seen before. He saw makeshift crutches for missing limbs, hastily-constructed splints for broken bones. He saw missing eyes, missing fingers, bandages bloody and needing to be changed. The air smelled putrid with death and disease. Tinsley knew immediately that everyone in that cavern was ten times braver than he had ever been. And here he was, with the audacity to think he'd lead them again.</p><p>He saw elderly folk leaning on tired younger ones. For the love of the gods, he saw children amid the adults. Children who had been born into this war, teenagers who had grown up with memories of nothing else. Toddlers stood next to legs longer than they were tall. Tinsley made himself look at each one as he made his slow progress. Some already sported wounds that would never fully heal. Gods only knew the damage to their minds. His eyes fluttered at the sight of a young girl with a large gash in her cheek, her jaw smothered in bandages. She was staring up at him, her light grey eyes wide in wonder. Holly had been right, thought Tinsley. This was no place to raise a child.</p><p>“Silverbird.”</p><p>He came to a halt, and he turned his head to look at the person who had spoken. The woman’s eyes scoured his face before she breathed, “It <em> is </em>you.”</p><p>“You’re alive,” said someone else from further in the crowd, voice numb. “You’ve... been alive all this time.”</p><p>“Why did you leave?" called another. “Why did you leave us?”</p><p>“Why didn’t you let us know you were alive!”</p><p>Tinsley didn’t know how to respond. Sweat broke cold on his forehead. These were the questions he had been dreading the whole time, questions that had tormented him in his sleep. He knew the answer. He could hear it in Ricky’s spiteful voice, <em> You’re a coward, Tinsley, and you always have been. </em>Ricky had a knack of knowing what to say that would strike him to his core, and it was because everything Ricky said was true. In the most horrible ways, it was all true. Tinsley swallowed and said, “I ran away.”</p><p>There was a stunned silence. Then someone said, “Why?”</p><p>“Because I thought the war was over.” He cleared his throat, speaking louder, and signing for those who couldn’t hear his words. “I thought we’d lost. I didn’t know the fighting continued. The word on the mainland is that the Roost is at peace.”</p><p>This got a round of mutters and curses. Tinsley let himself feel a little relieved; for now, their anger was deflected. But he could still see the doubt in people’s eyes when they looked at him, their faith in him long gone. It was a painful feeling. He looked back to the ground.</p><p>Then someone else, a familiar, jovial voice, said, “And now you’re back to make the Council’s word the truth, I hope.”</p><p>Tinsley turned, and he pressed his lips together in a wry smile at the approaching rider. “Aran. You’re bigger than I remember.”</p><p>Aran smiled widely at him, emerging from the still-watching crowd. He towered above them all, built like a bull, with broad shoulders and biceps the size of a child’s head. The only person who Tinsley knew was larger was the Mayor, although each was as gentle as the other.</p><p>“The Silverbird, back from the dead,” said Aran, clamping a hand down on Tinsley’s shoulder and giving him a shake. “If the papers were still running, you’d have all the headlines, my friend.”</p><p>“I don’t think I’d want that anymore.”</p><p>“What? At the beginning you used to scramble for a paper just to read about yourself in it.” Aran laughed loudly, the sound echoing around the cavern. “What’s this? You reached mental maturity at the young age of thirty-five?”</p><p>“I’m a new man.”</p><p>Aran took him by the arm, pulling him onward. Holly followed behind. “Let’s talk somewhere private.”</p><p>The crowd watched them go. The second Tinsley left the space, conversation erupted.</p><p>Aran led them into a small cavern, which seemed to have been changed into some sort of meeting area. There was a long narrow table in the centre with seats scattered around it. On the table itself was an unfurled map of the island, weighed down with stones. On the map were small carved figurines, made from wood and ivory and stone. Tinsley went to the map, scanning each town, each important city. There were a large number of carved ravens, with the biggest one resting on the island-city of Greatsky, dark wings spread. Tinsley looked to the Heights, where there was a small gathering of ivory herons. His own marker, larger than the others, was nowhere to be seen. It had been gotten rid of, he supposed. </p><p>He looked at the miniature chest in which the markers were kept, reaching across to open it, and there the marker was. He drew it out, giving it a quick polish on the end of his coat. Then he set it amid the rest on the Heights. He glanced up, and Holly smiled at him from across the table. He took a deep breath and nodded.</p><p>“Now that the formalities are done,” said Aran, slapping Tinsley on the back. “Tell me what you’ve been up to for the past few years, hm?”</p><p>“Just… traveling.”</p><p>"Can you still remember how to fight?" grinned Aran, giving him a playful shove with his fist.</p><p>"How could I ever forget," said Tinsley dryly, letting himself be lightly punched in the arm again.</p><p>"You were okay. Could've been better."</p><p>"Please stop fighting my arm."</p><p>"It feels a bit soft. Where's all your muscle? Lost it all while lazing on the mainland?"</p><p>"Lost it? You wish."</p><p>"Oh yeah? Proof!"</p><p>Tinsley gave in, lightly sparring with him for a moment or so, telling him how he most definitely had not lost anything on the mainland, and if anything he had returned not only stronger, but wiser and smarter than anyone else.</p><p>"At least you joke about that now," said Aran, catching him in a headlock and dragging him in a circle. He ruffled Tinsley's hair. "I think you used to believe it wholeheartedly."</p><p>"I wasn't <em> that </em>bad."</p><p>"No. No, you weren't." Aran looked him in the eye, clamping a hand around the back of his neck and giving him a shake. "I'm glad you're home, Silverbird."</p><p>Tinsley smiled, but he didn’t agree. Not quite yet.</p><p>Movement in the doorway made him turn his head. It was Rasha, in her sunset-red coat, her thick dark hair pulled back off her face into an untidy bun at the back of her head. Tendrils remained loose, drifting around her bright brown eyes. She didn’t smile. She didn’t greet him at all. Tinsley knew instantly that she was angry with him. He knew she wasn’t alone in that emotion.</p><p>“What took you so long,” was all she said.</p><p>Tinsley shared a glance with Holly. “I would’ve come back sooner if I’d known.”</p><p>Rasha raised a dark brow. “Oh? Would you have?”</p><p>“Of course I would have.”</p><p>Tinsley held her gaze. He knew better than to show his shame in front of riders; it would only label him as weak. Aran gave Rasha a warning look, which she returned. She looked at Holly then too, signing as she spoke so everyone knew what she was saying.</p><p>“I don’t know why you’re all leaving me out on a limb here. We were all in agreement a few weeks ago.”</p><p><em> Things have changed, </em>signed Holly, her eyes stern.</p><p>“Things have gotten worse,” replied Rasha. “And Tinsley has already proved himself a failure of a saviour.”</p><p>“Rasha,” said Aran harshly. “Enough.”</p><p>“It’s true,” said Tinsley, looking down at the map, at the large carved raven over Greatsky. “I got too confident. I put too much trust in our enemies, thinking they’d be honorable. I was proven wrong.”</p><p>“At the cost of thousands of lives,” said Rasha.</p><p>“Almost at the cost of my own life,” said Tinsley fiercely. “You think I just wandered out of Greatsky without a worry? Without a scratch? It was Holly who came and freed me, if I remember correctly. You, on the other hand, were pretty quick to give up on me.”</p><p>Rasha blinked at this, her brows drawing together. “You have some nerve coming back here and acting like this. We were doing fine without you.”</p><p><em> No we weren’t, </em> signed Holly, arching an eyebrow. <em> We were losing. </em></p><p>
  <em> And we’ll continue losing. Tinsley’s presence won’t change that. </em>
</p><p>Rasha looked at Tinsley again, accusingly. He forced himself to ask the question lingering in the air; it was better to ask it than avoid it. </p><p>“I heard about Farrelly. I’m sorry.”</p><p>“A partial loss. We found a bit of him here, bit of him there. Found his arm the other week. You know how it is.” Her gaze hardened. “Or wait, no you don’t.”</p><p>Tinsley reddened. "I know that everyone here is braver than I was. You're braver than I was, than I am. I know that. I want to make up for it."</p><p>“It's not bravery when we have no other choice,” said Rasha, taking a stand at the head of the table. “We made the decision to follow you in this war. Then you left. And now we're being whittled away day by day.”</p><p>Tinsley eyed her. Rasha had never been particularly adverse to confrontation, but there was a bitter edge to it now. “I will win this.”</p><p>“How,” she demanded. “How could you possibly hope to match Ventis’ weapons. You haven’t seen what they can do. You haven’t seen them in action. There’s no way to match them.”</p><p>“I have a weapon of my own.”</p><p>“Well where is it then?”</p><p>Tinsley didn’t respond for a moment, eyes on the map. “He’s on his way.”</p><hr/><p>The lulling rhythm of the horse under him had Ricky dozing in the saddle. From all sides he could hear boots against the ground, hooves against packed dirt, metal rattling and voices murmuring. It was a sound he had swiftly grown used to over the past few weeks. It seemed to be getting louder every day as more people joined them. Some villagers had even gathered up their carts and harvests and joined the holy folk. There was no point in farming and growing food when the nearest Councillors rode in at the beginning of harvest season and reaped the best vegetables and meats for their own bellies. Sometimes the Councillors would even barter with each other, as if they had any right, as if they had grown the food from the ground themselves. There was nothing more humiliating than handing over the hard work of a year to simply see it be passed back and forth between those who didn’t deserve it, who looked upon it like an endless resource. The Council had even begun to charge the village families to live on their own land, making them hand over money in order to be allowed to make a home out of their own house. It was getting ridiculous, they had thought. They were to give so much to the Council and receive scraps in return, if anything at all. It was no wonder Ricky collected followers so easily. He knew what they wanted. They wanted freedom, and he would give it to them at any cost.</p><p>“Are you hungry?”</p><p>Ricky opened his eyes, turning his head to look down at where Esmond walked beside him. “Not particularly. Why do you walk? Do you want a horse?”</p><p>“No. I’m not one for riding.” Esmond took another bite of the sliver of salted pork in his hand. “Bridgeford is close. Very close. And by the size of us, it’s very likely they know we’re coming.”</p><p>“Good. I want them to know I’m coming.” Ricky looked ahead again, lifting his chin. The grass here grew thick and dark, and the foliage was rich with the end-of-summer blackberries. They glistened readily, dripping sweet juice. “Who is the Overseer at Bridgeford?”</p><p>“Councillor Kigrid.”</p><p>Ricky’s eyes narrowed. “That name is familiar.”</p><p>“Yes. It is.” Esmond looked down as a few shrieking children ran by him, threatening to trip him up. “He was a frequent visitor to Lacilia’s. He tried to bed you.”</p><p>“Ah. He’s the one I struck?”</p><p>“He’s the one who started you on this trajectory, in a way.”</p><p>Ricky was quiet for a moment. “Then I have much to thank him for.”</p><p>Esmond glanced up at Ricky from under his brows. He didn’t say anything. He chewed his pork in silence.</p><p>The sound of galloping hooves made both he and Ricky turn. It was Haron, upright in the stirrups, heading towards them. Esmond saw Ricky smile. It was clear to everyone that Haron had become one of Ricky’s favourites. And why shouldn’t he be? He was radiantly handsome, with soft brown skin and dark hair that flowed past his shoulders in silken waves. He was friendly and charming, and had been one of the first to drop to his knees before Ricky at the Temples. After all, Ricky needed little else but good looks, a skilled touch, and blind devotion to find someone worthy of his time. Esmond continued chewing pensively on his pork as Haron brought his horse to a halt beside them.</p><p>“Bridgeford is over the next hill,” he said, flushed and breathless from riding. “There’s no delegation, but there’s a tent set up.”</p><p>“Probably for negotiation,” said Esmond.</p><p>Ricky laughed. “Confident in themselves, aren’t they? Gods don’t barter and haggle. Gods take what they want when they want it.”</p><p>Haron seemed to glow at these words, but Esmond was more on the dubious side.</p><p>“What’s your plan of action?” he asked, looking up at where Ricky remained proud in his saddle.</p><p>“I have no plan of action. I have no plans at all. I’m only here to carry out the plans of the gods.”</p><p>Esmond didn’t respond. He didn’t have quite the same amount of faith in the gods as the rest of the people did. Even Lacilia had begun to believe, and she had been one of the most condescending when it came to religion. But then again, how could he doubt what he saw Ricky do at the Temples? Emerge, unharmed, from the fallen temples, walking across the surface of the lake as if there was solidity beneath his feet. Yes, there was no doubt that Ricky had the ability to save those who believed. But he also had the ability to destroy, and he had flaunted this ability on more than one occasion, with a smile on his face each time.</p><p>“Who was that man,” began Esmond, “who gave you your coat after the temples fell?”</p><p>Ricky didn’t respond for a moment. “I can’t recall.”</p><p>“He also came to your room,” persisted Esmond, not letting him off the hook so easily. “He seemed… angry at the fact you weren’t alone in your bed. Was he Tinsley?”</p><p>Ricky gave him a long look. “He was.”</p><p>“I never knew that your Tinsley and the Silverbird were one and the same.”</p><p>“Mm.”</p><p>“And what was he to you? Your lover?”</p><p>“We never shared a bed. But I did love him. I still do.”</p><p>“You sound regretful about it.”</p><p>Ricky went quiet. “He’s difficult to love at times. He can be cruel. Terribly cruel.”</p><p>“Does he love you back?”</p><p>“In his own way.”</p><p>Esmond knew what this meant; <em> I don’t know. </em>“You must love him a lot, if you’re going to fight his war for him.”</p><p>“...Yes. Yes, I must.” </p><p>“And what if he’s only using you to win?”</p><p>Ricky didn’t respond. He kicked his horse into a fast walk, leaving Esmond and Haron behind. The conversation had irked him. He was well aware of his own feelings about Tinsley. They were clear, and difficult to ignore. But he hated being made aware that Tinsley might not feel so strongly about him. He hated knowing that others might be aware of it too. In fact, the latter irritated him more than the former.</p><p>He made his way to the front of the people, setting a faster pace. He needed to expel this anger somewhere, and he knew that just over the next hill was a city for him to take, and a Councillor to defeat. He was impatient to get there.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>things kinda kick off next chapter!! so I think the set-up chapters are kinda done with !</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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